Bâhukhazâd
by xElisabeth
Summary: 'For what you did for my people, I name you Bâhukhazâd – Friend of Dwarves – so that the world may never forget what you have done for the line of Durin. For what you've done for my kin, I gift you this token, that you may never forget you have our eternal gratitude.' Starts out as a mixture between the book and movies, but turned into something completely different along the way.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hello dear readers! It's been a terribly long time since I even had the time to write and I am so so sorry! For some of you who have read my "Stories up for adoption", the main character in this story might seem a bit familiar. However, although that story was set to take place during the War of the Ring (which is still might), this one takes place during the Quest for Erebor. Before you start reading, I just want to say: give it a chance. My main character may turn out to not be all that they seem at first.. Enjoy and please don't forget to tell me your thoughts!**

* * *

 **Chapter one: An unexpected rescue(r)**

Thorin chanced a glance around the corner, before he gave the clear sign to his Company. As one, they crept down the corridor, as quiet as could ever be expected of a group of thirteen Dwarves and a Hobbit – although the latter was considerably more silent than his companions. They came to another stop soon and Thorin again took it upon himself to peer into the next hallway.

Empty. They moved again.

The first rays of sunlight already filtered through the open arches into the deserted corridor when suddenly the leader of this curious party, Thorin Oakenshield, raised his hand in warning. Another glance around the corner confirmed his suspicions; an Elven guard was slowly approaching, the halo of his torch lighting the still largely darkened hallway.

Turning to his second in command, and coincidently best friend, he spoke under his breath: 'A guard is coming; we must find another way out.'

Dwalin, son of Fundin, nodded briskly, before relaying the order to the other members in signed Iglishmêk. The Dwarves started after their leader again, back down the corridor from which they came. The Hobbit, of course having not at all understood the order given in the Dwarvish sign language, trailed behind them, confused and a little upset that they had missed breakfast to come all this way, only for them to go back. Was it a mere scouting mission, Bilbo Baggins wondered silently. No, he was quite sure that Thorin had told them they would be leaving the Elven valley this morning. In all truthfulness, he would not have minded staying in Rivendell for a little longer and he had even considered taken the Elven Lord up on his offer of remaining there as the Company left.

Whilst Bilbo pondered the matter of his missed breakfast and the Elven city, they had come to a stop once more. The poor Hobbit could not see what was going on through the throng of Dwarves and so contented himself with getting some rest now that he still could.

At the front of the Company, Thorin cursed lowly under his breath in Khuzdul as another torch appeared at the far end of this corridor as well. They were surrounded.

Low muttering arose as this realisation also filtered into the minds of the other members of the Company. If the Elves caught them now, they would surely be stopped!

'Itkit!' Thorin hissed at the complaining Dwarves, effectively shutting them up and giving him some quiet to think about their next step. They could not move forward, nor could they very much go back. At least not if they did not want to explain to those blasted Elves why they were trying to sneak out. But what other..-

'This way,' a voice suddenly called out. The startled members looked up as a cloaked figure appeared from a darkened, up until then unnoticed, third hallway. When none of the Dwarves made any intention to move, the figure beckoned them impatiently 'Hurry now, unless you fancy being caught!'

That got the Dwarves into motion. After a short nod from their leader, they hurried into the corridor, following the cloaked figure as it led them expertly around many bends and corners.

As they followed the figure, Dwalin and Thorin shared a look. Neither knew what was going on, or where the cloaked figure was taking them, but both considered any option better than being caught by the Elves.

When at last they emerged from the maze of hallways and entered into a woodland area, the sun had already risen past the horizon and the Company members finally got a look at their guide.

From the look of his clothes, as well as the length of his legs, it quickly became clear that their guide was part of the same race that they were trying to escape.

'An Elf?' Dwalin hissed, unbelievingly 'Where is it leading us? For all we know he is leading us into an ambush!'

'Keep up, Master Dwarf,' the Elf spoke, its head still fixed on the path in front of them. 'The way to the Mountains is a long one and we have not nearly put enough distance between us and the city to stop for breakfast.'

'Should we follow him?' Dwalin asked his King, mindful this time to keep his voice down. He had heard stories about the keen hearing of Elves.

Thorin looked calculatingly at the back of their guide, then sighed 'It appears we don't have any other choice, Dwalin. If anything, we can easily overpower him if he tries anything.'

For a moment, both Dwarves thought to hear a low chuckle, but the sound quickly faded and their guide gave no further inclination of having heard their whispered conversation.

At the back of the Company, Bilbo was just admiring what could possibly be the last view of Rivendell he would ever have when the mention of breakfast reached his ear – and his stomach rumbled in response. Turning his eyes back to the road, he realised he had been falling behind as he had stopped to admire the Elven city one last time, and he quickly sped up to fall into step behind the young Dwarven Princes. As it so happened, they were just taking bets on the motives of their mysterious guide.

'What exactly are you doing?' The Hobbit questioned them, raising his eyebrow as they were quietly whispering among themselves.

'Kíli here,' here Fíli, son of Dís, slapped his younger brother good-naturedly on the back 'Seems to believe our guide is a rebel, who has nothing but good intentions and love for Dwarves!'

The brunette Dwarf scowled at this 'I did not say _that_! I merely said that I don't think he's trying to cause us any harm. He could have just left us in that corridor to be discovered.'

Bilbo nodded in agreement, glad that at least one of the Dwarves did not share in the preposterous suspicion the other members seemed to have of Elves.

* * *

Thorin felt an almost tangible weight fall of his shoulders as their guide led them onto a rocky path and the valley of Rivendell, at last, moved out of view. Even before he had a chance to enjoy the temporary lessening of his many worries, he was reminded of the Elf that was still leading the Company – _his_ Company – towards the Mountains.

'We stop here for lunch,' he called out demonstratively at the next clearing they passed. The sun had now fully made its way into the sky and they had been walking for several hours. They were far removed from the Elven city and it was high time he put an end to this madness.

The Company members gratefully made their way into the clearing, dropping their packs – and themselves – in the lush grass. However, food did not made its quick appearance as it usually did. Instead, all eyes were focused on the tall Elf that stood by the side of the clearing, staring out at the path ahead of them.

'Elf,' Thorin addressed him, his dislike for the race obvious in his voice.

The figure turned around slowly, the hood of the blasted cloak hiding his expression from the Company. If he was at all offended by the lack of respect the Dwarven King showed him, they could not tell.

'Why are you here?'

'You needed help,' the Elf replied simply, as if an Elf helping Dwarves was the most common thing in the world. Thorin ground his teeth together.

'We would have found the exit by ourselves.'

'Of course. And maybe if you would have made good time you may have reached the Lonely Mountain before Durin's day _next year_.'

The Company grew silent at this remark and their leader narrowed his eyes at the stranger. 'What do you know of Erebor?'

'I know it was your home, before it was taken from you by the great drake Smaug. I also know you are on a Quest to reclaim it.'

The Dwarven King was in front of the Elf in a second, fisting his hand in the fabric of the grey woollen cloak as he pulled their guide to eye-level. 'How did you come by this information?'

The Elf was momentarily thrown off by the swift action of the Dwarf, as well as the unexpected experience of being intimidated by someone almost half their size. 'The Wizard told me before he met with the White Council.'

Thorin let go of the woollen cloak, his anger for the Wizard temporarily occupying his mind. First he had led them to the Valley against his explicit wishes, then he tells some Elf about their sacred, _secret_ Quest!

He stepped back, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he assessed the still hooded Elf, trying to pin the grey eyes underneath down with his glare. 'What is it to you?'

'I want to join you on your Quest,' the Elf replied bluntly.

The Dwarven King stared at the figure a little bit longer, then he picked up his packs. As he moved back towards the road, he called back to his kin 'We continue.'

The Elf was passed without another glance of the King, though some of the Company members gave the lone figure a confused and – in all cases except for the Hobbit – somewhat suspicious look in passing. Why would an Elf wish to accompany them on their journey?

'You need a guide!'

Thorin stopped in his tracks, his eyes flashing with impatience as he turned back to the Elf, who was still standing in the little clearing. 'I am sure we will be able to find the way to _our_ _home_.'

'Your path will lead you through Greenwood the Great. The only safe passage through there is by taking the Elven road. Except, you are no Elves. You will lose the path within mere hours. And when you do, there's no turning back…' The Elf spoke lowly and a shiver ran over the backs of the members of the Company at the dark, ominous tone. They did not know what awaited them once they would enter the forest – and luckily so, for if they did they might never venture there – but none liked the implications behind the Elf's words.

'We have a Wizard,' Balin countered in a diplomatic voice, being the first to recover from the unpleasant feeling.

'Indeed, I see no sign of him now. Besides, it was him who asked me to come on this journey.' The Elf paused, turning his head to the side. 'Would you risk falling under the spell of the Greenwood over accepting help from one who freely offers it? I ask no recompense, no reward. I ask only that you let me come along.'

Thorin took a step towards the strange figure, his eyes narrowed in suspicion 'Who are you?'

The Elf slowly stepped from under the tree canopy. As he pulled the hood down in a fluent motion, light golden hair spilled from under its cover. 'My name is Ardhoniel.'

As the Elf spoke and the mid-morning sunlight lit up the face that up until now had largely been covered by the woollen hood, the Dwarves – or at the very least some of them – realized their mistake.

'A _woman_?' Gloín all but shouted. 'First a Hobbit and now that blasted Wizard decides to bring along a woman?'

Whispering broke out among the Company as those who had not already come to that conclusion themselves now also noticed the soft, womanly curves of the guide. Of course, to their defence, it should be mentioned that all Elves do look rather alike for Dwarf standards (and of course the opposite is also true), and Dwarves are generally of the opinion that all Elves, both males and females alike, look like.. well, feeble maidens.

'Is there anything wrong with that, Master Dwarf?' The Elf, Ardhoniel, raised an arched eyebrow. 'I am a trained warrior with the use of sword and bow! I am… captain of the guard of Lord Elrond himself! I will not be a nuisance on this journey if that is what you are afraid of.' She crossed her arms in front of her at this, locking eyes with the Dwarven King.

He held her gaze for a moment. They had no time to waste and it was true that they might need a guide.. 'And yet you stand here, unpacked, unarmed and hardly prepared for such a long journey. We will not pass another town until we reach the other side of the Greenwood and I will not let harm befall my kin because of some Wizard's whims to bring along a She-Elf.'

The lady in question narrowed her eyes threateningly at him, opened her mouth and closed it again, then promptly stormed passed him. Her pace did not slow as she went up the rocky path, before disappearing around another bend.

'What do you..?' Kíli started.

'I have no idea,' His brother answered, sounding equally as bewildered. They had not a clue of what had just transpired and Kíli even rubbed his eyes confusedly, to see whether it was not all just a crazy dream. But sure enough, just as he lowered his hands, the She-Elf came back around the corner, looking a bit more composed than a moment ago. Moreover, she now had a rucksack thrown over her shoulder and weapons strapped to her person.

Thorin said nothing to her reappearance, choosing instead to just brush past the She-Elf silently as they continued on their journey. Given that his last argument had been concerned with her preparations, the female in question concluded that he had given his silent – and very reluctant – approval.

With that conclusion in mind and a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, she fell into step at the back of the group. That had gone better than expected.

~ Itkit = Be silent


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Hello! Normally I stick to an update schedule of once a week, but I figured that a second chapter to get to know the characters a little bit better might be a good idea. Before you start, I just want to point out that any weird reactions from the Company's side to the OC has nothing to do with attraction. She's an oddity... an Elf. For some that's incredible and something like a fairytale. For others, they just don't know how to handle themselves around her. And of course there's Thorin, who's just a general pain in the butt - whoops. Anyways, enjoy the read and please let me know your thoughts in a review! (Also, if anyone is good at writing summaries and you have a good idea for this story, please let me know in an PM!)**

* * *

 **Chapter two: Over hills and under trees**

The second day of travel, the Company made camp at the treeline. In the past two days the Company, and their strange Elven companion, had passed through the small woodland that separated Rivendell from the Misty Mountains. They had followed the winding path beneath the trees over slopes and hills for many hours that day, often feeling like they descended as much as they ascended – if not more. It was only at the fall of the second day that they had finally reached the bare, rocky foothills of the impressive mountain range.

'We camp here, where the trees still offer us shelter from the wind and coverage from unfriendly eyes,' Thorin had called out to his kinsmen.

Soon, the Company fell into their usual routine of things: the brothers Oín and Gloín set to creating a pit for the campfire, Kíli went back into the woods, bow at the ready, hoping to catch some fresh meat and his brother, Fíli, scouted the parameter of the camp.

Ardhoniel watched the young brunette leave the camp site with a frown marring her face. She had known the Dwarves would not trust her easily. She had known that very well before she set out on this journey. Yet she found she was experiencing increasing difficulty with accepting their ignorance of her. She had much more experience with a bow than the young Dwarf, was at least twice as sharp-sighted and over ten times as quiet as the lot of them. But of course, no one had bothered to ask her.

At that moment, she spotted the Company leader several feet away, alone and in the process of laying out his things. Dropping her own bags carelessly on the ground, she marched up to him. 'My Lord,' she addressed him through gritted teeth, knowing that it would not help her case if she lost her temper.

The Dwarven King turned around, giving her an unreadable look but otherwise not responding. Ardhoniel took that as sign that at least he was willing to listen.

'I would like to volunteer my services in hunting for tonight's meal.'

'Kíli has already been set to that task.'

'But surely having two pairs of eyes out would not hurt. I could..-'

'The last thing I need is for you to mistake one of my kinsmen for a deer and shoot him in the dark.' He assessed her for a moment, ignoring the furious look in the Elf's eyes. 'You may gather firewood.'

She breathed in deeply, then bowed her head 'Yes my Lord.'

Thorin watched the Elf stalk off, angrily throwing down her bow with the rest of her things. She unstrapped the sword from her belt, but he saw her tug a small dagger in one of her boots before she disappeared from the camp.

Meanwhile, Ardhoniel was seething. She had offered him her bow for hunting dinner and he had treated her like a small Elfling. Mistake a Dwarf for a deer, hah! Even if her eyesight and hearing would not be so sharp, the smell alone would alert her to the presence of a Dwarf if it was half-across the Misty Mountains!

She began angrily picking up twigs from the forest floor, all the while muttering to herself about the audacity of the Dwarven King. 'And that _look_! As if he doubts I am capable of even performing such a simple task as collecting firewood!'

For the first time since she had left Rivendell, the Elleth began to question her decision to leave home. Shaking her head, she dispelled those gloomy thoughts and returned her mind to the task of collecting wood.

Soon, when her arms were too full to pick up any more and her vision was obstructed by the pile of wood that rose up in front of her face, Ardhoniel turned back in the direction of the camp. The smaller twigs would get the fire going swiftly, while the thicker branches would ensure that it would burn through the night. Surely the Dwarves could find no fault in her completion of this simple task.

The treeline was already in view when suddenly her foot caught and the Elleth tipped forward. The firewood spilled from her arms as she fell to the ground and… was cushioned by something soft. Looking down, Ardhoniel came to the realization that it was not something, but rather, _someone_. Beneath her, the brunette archer lay motionless, covered in branches and twigs. In his one hand, he still held his bow, his prey lying a few feet away, completely forgotten in the moment, his eyes fixed on the Elf in mortification.

Ardhoniel blushed deeply as she realized that it must have not been a root that had caused her fall. 'My apologies, Master Dwarf. I had not seen you.' She offered him a hand, which he took after some hesitation.

As she knelt down to gather her fallen collection, Ardhoniel could not help but be surprised when the young Dwarf sat down next to her.

'I am sorry for all your work.'

She looked up at him, surprise at his civility clear in her eyes. 'That's quite all right, Master Dwarf. I am glad I did not happen upon you at an earlier time, or I would have surely startled away your prey.'

He nodded, handing her the last of the firewood. The Dwarf went to collect the rabbit that he'd shot, then looked back at her awkwardly. 'We should probably go back, before Unc… I mean, before Thorin sends out a search party.'

Ardhoniel said nothing, but followed behind him with her pile of recollected wood. As she entered the camp parameter, she noticed the change in atmosphere before she actually saw the usual glares. Deciding to ignore them as best as she could, she unceremoniously dropped the firewood near the pit. She was about to make her way back to the pile of her bags and weapons when the sound of a familiar, commanding voice made her come to a halt.

'What happened, Kíli?'

She turned around just in time to see the young brunette, Kíli, shake his head and turn his heated face to the ground. That was when she noticed the twigs that were still tangled in his hair.

Heaving a deep sigh, she stepped up to the Dwarven King. 'Nothing happened,' she clarified, her annoyance at his distrust only thinly veiled by politeness.

Thorin's eyes narrowed dangerously on her. 'I did not ask you.' He then seemed to note the similarly dishevelled state her clothes were in. 'Or did you have something to do with it, Elf? Did you attack my kin? What kind of Elvish magic did you attempt to use on him?'

Ardhoniel did not respond immediately and Thorin took that as a confirmation of his accusations. 'What did you to do him?!'

'It's not her fault, Thorin,' a voice suddenly piped up from across the camp.

Both the Company leader and the Elleth turned in surprise to the young Dwarf. His cheeks were still red with embarrassment and he seemed terribly uncomfortable with all eyes suddenly fixed on him. However, he seemed to draw some strength from his brother, who had taken a place close behind him, as he continued nevertheless. 'I had been squatting behind a bush. When I went to stand up, she just walked by with her pile of firewood. The resulting fall was as much her fault as it was mine.'

The camp was silent for a moment as all Company members awaited their leader's response with bated breath. The Dwarf King nodded at last – a curt, almost imperceptible gesture – and stalked off.

Through her relief that she would not be send home that particular day, Ardhoniel almost missed his next words.

'Next time just make sure you are careful – both of you!'

* * *

'Excuse me, my Lady?'

The She-Elf's head shot up to see Bilbo Baggins standing in front of her, a steaming bowl of stew in each of his hands. The Hobbit noted that she had a curved dagger lying in her lap along with a whetstone, but that she had not been using them. Instead, he observed with some interest, she had been fingering a silvery pendant that hung around her neck. As she looked at him, the gratitude was clear in her grey eyes and he suspected that she must have been hungry – and so Bilbo put the matter of the necklace away for a later time.

'Thank you, Master Hobbit.' Putting her dagger down, she accepted the wooden bowl from him with a nod.

To both her and his own surprise, the Hobbit sat down on the log next to the Elven lady. Although he had been the one bringing her meals for the past two days – for the sole reason that the Dwarves would not, he thought with a huff – never before had he said more than required, nor had he lingered.

'So, Gandalf has roped you into this too, hasn't he?'

She looked at him curiously, her head slightly tilted to one side, then her eyes lit up in understanding. 'Ah, you mean Mithrandir! I am sorry, Master Hobbit, I am afraid I am not well accustomed to the customs of other races.' She smirked at that, as if she herself realised the irony of her words. 'But yes, to answer your question, I suppose I am.'

Bilbo nodded in understanding, his brown curls moving along. 'He is a rather _curious_ fellow, do you not think?' He huffed at his own words, remembering how often he had already cursed the Wizard for his meddling. If not for Gandalf, he would now be seated at his large dining table in Bag End, enjoying a supper of golden, Shire-grown baked potatoes, well-cooked tenderloin and a side of roasted vegetables, all sprinkled with just a little bit of sage..

An image of the Trolls came back to him and he crunched up his nose in disgust. No, sage was definitely out of the question. The meddling Wizard had ruined even that for him!

'Are you all right, Master Hobbit?'

Remembering his companion, Bilbo momentarily put aside his grievances with the Wizard. 'Quite. And please, Bilbo is more than enough. I do not.. I mean, I am not anything special. I am just…'

'If the Wizard brought you here, then I have no doubt that you are... Bilbo,' she smiled down at him, radiating that unconditional goodness that he had come to associate with Elves, and for a moment Bilbo thought he felt his stomach ache in a way that had nothing to do with his unquenched appetite. Nevertheless, he quickly spooned his stew into his mouth – with far less manners than he would have ever dreamt of using several months ago. Then, he hopped from the log and all but ran to the rotund Dwarven cook, mumbling something about "going to help with the dishes".

The Elleth was left to stare after him in confusion, wondering if she had said something wrong.

~ Elleth = female Elf


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Hi dear readers! Here's the third installment of Bâhukhazâd (what a name, right!). Again there's not a lot going on, but we are getting there! Let me know what you think! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: The road goes ever on**

'Tell me about the Shire.'

The Hobbit looked up, quite startled that anyone at all would be talking to him. They had set out again that morning at first light and for the past few hours, the strange Elven lady had been walking next to him in silence. Up until now, that was. 'Oh, I… well..'

'Is it truly as beautiful as they say?'

Bilbo blushed a little at that 'Well, I think it is. But it is nothing like Rivendell, I suppose.'

'That may be so,' she smiled down at him, her grey eyes twinkling 'But there may be beauty in both.'

Bolstered by her words – and her kind smile – Bilbo stared into the distance, the rolling hills and grassy lands vivid in his mind's eye. 'Yes, I suppose it is beautiful. We don't have impressive works of architecture or great waters or woodlands. However, with its little creeks and tranquil forests, the Shire surely has its charm. Oh, the ever-extending orchards, the branches of each tree heavy with the most delicious fruits that you could think of. Every parent would take their children to Bywater Pool in the summer. They would instruct their children not to wade too deep into the water – most Hobbits can't swim you see – but the warning was often unnecessary. Hobbits care little for water and the children much prefer to stay with their parents where there is food and rest. Although, I do remember one occasion..'

'Are you telling a story, Mister Boggins?'

'Baggins. Bilbo _Baggins_ ,' the poor Hobbit grumbled under his breath, then he sighed. 'And I suppose I am. You can listen, if you promise to be quiet!' And so he began his tale.

The Elleth, Ardhoniel, listened on in wonder. Never before had she ventured so far west that she had gazed upon the lands of the Shire. Indeed, she had never even passed beyond the Last Bridge. However, great beauty she had seen even within the boundaries of her home. And yet, as she watched the Hobbit speak of his own home, she could not help but think it must truly be a sight to behold.

For some time, she was so enraptured in the tale that the Hobbit was spinning – which he had quite the talent for, as we all know of course – that she did not quite notice when it came to an end. In fact, it was only when Bilbo called her name that she looked up from her thoughts.

'Lady Ardhoniel?'

'Hmmm? Oh I am sorry, Bilbo. What was it that you wanted?'

The Hobbit got a little red in the face and stammered a bit before he seemed to get his thoughts in order. 'Well, I just asked – I was just wondering… You see, I could not help but notice that all the Elves in Rivendell were dark-haired. And I was just wondering if you…' His face grew an even darker shade of red. 'Oh I should not have asked; it is terribly rude of me!'

She tilted her head and graced him with another smile. 'I am impressed with your perceptiveness, Master Hobbit. The Imladris Elves are mostly of Ñoldorin descend.'

'And you are not… of _Ñoldorin_ descend?' He stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

'I am. However, I am also partly Vanyarin and…' She glanced to the side, only to see a greatly confused look on the face of not only the Hobbit, but also on those of the two young Dwarves. She blushed a little and gave them a sheepish smile. 'I apologize. I see that perhaps I should adjust my tale to my audience. Very simply put, there are three great clans of Eldar Elves; the Vanyar, the Ñolder, and the Teleri. Each has distinctive traits. The first clan of Elves to arrive in Aman were the Vanyar. They are generally light-haired and are the tallest of the Elven clans. The Elves that dwell in Imladris – or Rivendell as you would call it – are mostly of Ñoldorin descend, the second great clan of Elves. They are known for their dark hair, although some Houses have fairer hair due to intermarriage with one of the other clans. Last are the Teleri, their Sindarin name literally meaning _"Those who come last"_. For that reason, they are often considered least wise of all Eldar elves.'

Ardhoniel took another quick look at her audience. The confused look on the two young Dwarves' faces had lessened somewhat, although they still looked slightly puzzled – or maybe it was just how Dwarves looked, she could not tell. The Hobbit's eyes were wide in wonder.

'My mother used to tease me by saying that I seemed very much Telerin: too impulsive, too playful...' She looked out at the vast mountain range, as if lost in thought.

The smile fled from her lips and Kíli could not help but feel his heart grow heavy at the loss. Distracted by the sudden sorrow that overcame him, he could not help but ask: 'What happened?'

A moment passed before the Elleth drew away her gaze from the mountains and she regarded him with solemn grey eys. 'She sailed to the Undying Lands.'

'I am sorry, I didn't…-'

'That is quite all right, Master Dwarf. It happened many years ago, when I was myself just a young Elfling.' Despite her reassurance, no words were passed between the four of them for the remainder of the morning.

* * *

That evening, the Elleth was contemplating whether asking to help with the chores was worth another unpleasant confrontation with the Company leader. However, before she could reach a decision on the matter, the Dwarven King himself had approached her.

'Elf,' he barked. The female in question was about to open her mouth, to inform him of the fact that she did, as a matter of fact, have a name. 'You take the second watch tonight.'

As he walked away, leaving the She-Elf in utter confusion, Thorin himself had difficulties understanding his behaviour. He did not want her with them, nor did he trust her. Yet, hearing about her loss had made him come to the tentative conclusion that maybe she was not completely evil. Maybe, even Elves could feel the pain of loss. He tried not to think about how that made them not so very different after all.

Later that night, Ardhoniel sat with her back against one of the sparse trees that still dotted the rocky landscape here and there, staring up at the mighty _Hithaeglir_ that stretched out far beyond her sight. Several hours had already passed and with no sign of danger, her hand rested comfortably on the string of her bow. Yet her mind was not so tranquil a place, as it strayed hundreds of miles south and eons into the past.

She startled when soft groans drifted her way and despite her earlier distractedness, did not miss a beat with drawing the bowstring and aiming her weapon at the sound. Here, she breathed a sigh of relief.

It was only one of the younger Dwarves, one of the two brothers, who had sat up on his bedroll. She watched him scratch the back of his head sleepily, the braids in his moustache swinging along with the movement. He scrambled to his feet and, only then seeming to take note of her, made his way over to where she sat.

'Master Dwarf,' she nodded at him in greeting as he approached.

He returned the greeting with a nod of his blonde head.

After that, they stayed for a few moments in silence. Ardhoniel did not understand the reason behind his approaching her – but chalked it up to the strange ways of Dwarves. At last he spoke.

'I came to apologise.' His words were met with a confused look – and more silence. He continued: 'My brother tends to speak before he thinks, but he does not mean offense. We, too, know the grief that comes with losing a parent.'

She regarded the Dwarf in front of her, noted the sincerity in his voice, and then bowed her head in acceptance. 'No offense was taken, Master Dwarf. It was a long time ago and although the wound has never healed, it is but a dull ache these days. However, it grieves me to hear that you have experienced similar trials.'

He only nodded at her words. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he bowed deeply to her. 'Fíli, at your service.'

'Ardhoniel, at yours and your family.' She bowed her head and when she looked up, found the young Dwarf, Fíli, shifting from one foot to the other. The Elleth raised one arched eyebrow, suddenly remembering one small detail.

'If I may ask, why did you come this way, Master Fíli?'

He stopped shifting immediately and she noticed a blush creep up onto his cheeks. 'I.. I had to… I had to relieve myself.' He did not look her in the eye – which she was quite grateful for, or he would have seen her own face grow red as well.

'Ah..'

'I best… get that out of the way so I can go to sleep, aye?' He quickly scrambled away in the direction of some bushes.

~ Hithaeglir = Misty Mountains


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! I hope you all had a lovely weekend. We have at last reached the part where the action starts; in this chapter, but definitely in the ones after this. I hope you'll enjoy it! Let me know what you think in a review!**

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 **Chapter 4: Deluge**

The fourth day came and saw the Company of Dwarves – accompanied by one Hobbit and an Elf – at last following a rocky path up the steep slopes of the Misty Mountains. As they got higher, the air around them became thinner and thus, conversation was sparse between the Company members. Moreover, a seemingly never-ending downpour of rain had soured everyone's mood and left few in the mood for chatting. This allowed all members plenty of time to think.

At the back of the line that filed up the small, rocky path, Bilbo was feeling quite miserable. Again, as his wet hair was plastered to his face and his walking stick hit the rocky, slippery path beneath him, he was reminded of Bag End. Of the warm hearth that he could be sitting at, nursing a comforting cup of tea and thinking of nothing but what he would have for dinner that evening. Instead, he was out in the cold, in the wet and quite possibly risking his life while hoping that the quest would not end for him with the rotund Dwarf in front of him falling back against him.

Bombur was panting quite heavily, leaning forward out of fear that the mere act of standing upright would send him rolling back down the hill. Right in front of him walked his brother, Bofur, looking the least downtrodden of all members despite his floppy hat leaning to one side due to the water that had gathered on it. He was whistling a merry tune as he kept a watchful eye on the back of his cousin, who he in turn was walking behind. The Dwarf in question, Bifur, was thinking… – well, we can only guess what he was thinking. My guess is that he was simply enjoying the _pitter-patter_ sound of the rain as it fell on the axe imbedded in his head. However, it might of course be anything and everything else. Or indeed, nothing at all.

Somewhere up the line, another Dwarf was being carefully monitored. Ori, younger brother of Dori and Nori, was clutching his bag – filled with his precious writing tools – in front of him, hoping to somewhat shield his belongings from the rain with his body. His eldest brother was walking behind him; his other brother in front of him. Both Dwarves now and then cast looks at their younger brother, scowling at one another when they would happen to catch the other doing the same thing.

Behind the trio walked two pairs of complaining brothers. The youngest, Fíli and Kíli, were muttering amongst themselves, annoyed by the cold, the wet and the rocky, uneven ground beneath their feet. The other pair, Oín and Gloín expressed similar complaints, albeit at a somewhat louder volume.

The front of the line was made up of four striking figures. Last was Dwalin, who with his broad frame and the large war axes strapped to his back made for quite the intimidating sight. He occasionally scowled at the sky or at the path beneath his feet, but otherwise remained largely silent. His brother and the most diplomatic of the Dwarves – although that perhaps in itself was not such a large feat – was in front of him. Balin was silently observing the final two members of the Company, his face deceptively empty. He had picked up on the tension between his leader and the strange Elven lady from the first moment she had revealed her identity – and he wondered how long it would take before the dam would burst.

Ardhoniel, although perhaps the least bothered by the elements, was feeling quite miserable. The Company leader had called her to the front before they had entered the narrow path in case they would need her knowledge of the area. With that act, he had separated her from Bilbo and likely the only person who would be willing to speak to her. Then, after she had joined the front of the group, the Dwarven King had not spoken another word to her. As Balin had correctly picked up, her patience with the Dwarf's insufferable attitude had just about worn out.

Last – and leader – of this strange Company was Thorin Oakenshield. He walked tall and proud at the head of the line, refusing to bow his head to shield his face from the rain. Thunder rumbled in the air and with the heavy rain fall, his eyes could barely see more than a couple of feet in front of him. For this reason – and his poor eyesight – he did not see the gigantic boulder until right before it hit the stone wall above them, raining small rocks and debris down upon the Company.

When he lowered the arm that had been shielding his face, they were suddenly in the midst of battle. Thorin could not believe his eyes when a large creature detached itself from the mountainside opposite from them. The creature, made completely of large rocks that formed crude limbs, picked up another large boulder and threw it in their direction. This brought Thorin back to himself – and his Company's rather precarious situation. 'Run! Hurry!'

The Company members did not need to be told twice. As one, they flew along the narrow path that up until a few minutes ago, they had been climbing slowly and with some difficulty.

He reached a bend and since the rain of rocks had stopped, Thorin deemed it safe for him to stop and assess the state of his Company. That is when it happened.

The stone beneath him shook as suddenly, another stone giant separated itself from the very mountain they were standing on. He watched in complete and utter helplessness as the path crumbled with half of his Company on the other side – which so happened to be the left knee of the rock giant!

'Kíli,' he cried out, noticing his sisters-son was among those that were quickly moving out of his sight as the giant was hit by a boulder and his knee crashed into the mountain wall.

For several, horrifying moments Thorin feared he had lost his nephew. Memories of them together played in his head. He had been too hard on the young Dwarf, he realised only now that it was too late. Next to him, Fíli was still desperately calling the name of his younger brother. With some distance, he noted that the She-Elf had her hands on his shoulders, to keep the young Dwarf from running out to the edge.

He had lost all hope when the giant's body fell down into the depths and, on the small ledge behind it, was revealed the remainder of his Company – all alive and well.

Fíli flew past his uncle – at last released by the Elven lady – and pulled his brother into a tight embrace. "I thought I lost you, _nadad_ ,' he spoke softly, his voice vibrating with the sentiment. Ever since his brother was born, he had protected him. All those times that Kíli had gotten into trouble, he had always been there to get him out. And now he had almost failed in his task.

'I am all right, Fíli,' his brother whispered back in a shaken voice. Despite his words, the younger Dwarf clung to his brother a little longer before he let go. The two turned just in time to see a look of confusion cross the face of Bofur, before he called out. 'Where's the Hobbit? Where's Bilbo?'

A loud screaming was his response and, as one, the Company turned to look over the ledge. There, dangling above the abyss, with nothing but the strength in his arms keeping him from falling, was their Burglar.

The moment she noticed the absence of the Hobbit, Ardhoniel started panicking. She knew he had been with those who were on the knee of the stone giant. Did not all make it out alive, after all? Then, seeing him hanging on the ledge, her heart leaped again. As the others flocked around the Hobbit, she quickly pulled open her rucksack. There had to be a rope in there, she knew.

Having located it at last, she looked up just in time to see Thorin himself drop down the ledge. With one hand on a protruding rock, he used his strong upper body to grab the Hobbit and hurl him up to the awaiting hands of the other Dwarves. And that is when his grip slipped.

She watched helplessly, the rope forlorn in her hand, as Dwalin pulled his King and closest friend to safety. As the pair dusted themselves of, she heard the burly warrior make mention of the Hobbit's well-being. The King under the Mountain sniffed in response.

'He's been lost ever since he left home. He had no business coming on this Quest; he should not have come. Let's go,' he nodded to the path.

The rest of the Company soon followed after him, all dazed by what happened and shocked by their leader's harsh words – yet none daring to oppose him. As the last Dwarf had passed her, Ardhoniel turned back to the Hobbit, who had now gotten to his feet as well.

'Do not take his words to heart, Bilbo. It could have happened to any of us.'

He sighed and made to move passed her. Then he stopped to look into the Elleth's sincere grey eyes and must have found something there that made him speak a little of what weighed on his heart. 'It could have. But it wasn't, was it?'

She wanted to say more to him, tell him that she would not have let him fall, but they quickly caught up with the rest of the group – and she found that discussing the matter in front of the Dwarven King would likely only aggravate the situation.

The Company had come to a halt in front of an opening in the rock wall and a quick glance confirmed Ardhoniel's suspicion: they had encountered a cave.

'Elf,' Thorin barked and again she was surprised that he remembered she was still there – even though he did not quite seem capable of remembering her name. When he saw her eyes turn in his direction, he continued 'You are familiar in these mountains. Do you know this cave? Is it safe?'

Her eyes returned to the cave for a moment, as if assessing it, then she nodded. 'It's safe.'

'We camp in here tonight. No fires, no cooked food. Get some rest, we start at first light.' Little did our Company members know that they would not see the first light of the next day.

~ nadad = brother


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Hello all and welcome back. First things first, I completely forgot to mention this in last week's author's note, but as you may (or may not) have noticed this story largely follows the movie events. However, I will not use the exact dialogue that is used in the movies because, let's face it, no one would be interested in that. That being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter. If so - and also if not - do let me know! (:**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Down down down to Goblin town**

Ardhoniel had difficulty finding sleep that night. She had quietly eaten her dinner, listening absentmindedly to the sparse conversation among the Dwarves. After that, everyone had quickly settled in for the night and she had done the same. She had placed her bedroll next to Bilbo's, but they had not spoken more than the mandatory "good night".

What had happened that day out on the mountain had shaken them. Not just Bilbo – although he certainly seemed to take the brunt of it – but everyone. She noticed it during dinner, when for once Bofur did not complain as his rotund brother got a second helping. She noticed it as she looked at the sleeping forms around her. Fíli and Kíli clinging just that bit closer to each other in their sleep. Thorin, who by now she was fairly certain must be related to them in some way, was in a similar state of unrest as herself, and kept throwing concerned glances towards the young Dwarves. For the first time since they had embarked on their journey, the Company members truly realised that they might not return. And even if they did, their beloved ones might not.

It was a disheartening realisation to say the least. Even for Ardhoniel, the thought of losing one of the Company members was a saddening one. Although she shared not in the deep connection that the Dwarves had, she would nevertheless grief if one of them were to fall.

And then, sometime later during the night, the Elleth pondered the possibility of her own demise. The thought of never looking upon her home again depressed her. Even more so, she thought about her father, her siblings, and about never seeing any of them again. She had left without even saying goodbye, knowing but never truly realising that she might never see them again. She did not want to think about the pain that she must have already caused her family by disappearing without a word.

And yet, it was not just the shock of almost losing part of the Company that kept her up that night. Despite her earlier words, there was something about the cave that set her on edge. And she was not the only one who could not find rest in it.

Across the cave, Thorin Oakenshield also lay awake. The incident out on the mountain was still fresh in his memory and every time he closed his eyes, unbidden images of losing his sisters-son appeared before his mind's eye. Before they had left, he had made a promise to his sister, the Lady Dís, that he would look after her sons. He had cared for the boys ever since their own father died, and as a result he loved them as if they were his own. Even without the promise, Thorin would rather die himself than let harm befall them. Even so, he had nearly experienced the loss of one of them that day – and the memory of that kept him from finding rest.

In another dark corner of the cave, Bilbo was pondering the Quest as well – or more specifically, his own part in it. Throughout the entire journey so far, he had felt like he did not belong, like he was an outsider. And of course he _was_ an outsider. However, contrary to us, Bilbo did not see how he could be of any possible use to the group of Dwarves that was trying to regain their homeland. Moreover, ever since they had left Rivendell he was becoming more and more certain that he had made the wrong decision in leaving home. The incident on the mountain was only the latest testament of that. He supposed there was truth in what the Elven lady had said – it _could_ have been anyone of the Company. And yet, it wasn't. It was him. It was him who'd had an allergic reaction to horse hair. It was him who got caught when they were fighting the trolls. And it was him who lost his footing on the mountain and almost fell to his death. The more the Hobbit considered this, the more it solidified his decision.

As quiet as he could, he sat up from his bedroll and gathered his things. With his leather sack strapped over his shoulder, he carefully stepped over the sleeping Dwarves towards the entrance of the cave.

'Where are you going?'

He turned around, finding Bofur staring at him in confusion. Bilbo sighed. 'Back to Rivendell, then from there on to Bag End.'

Bofur sat up further 'No, you can't turn back now! You are part of this Company!'

'Not really now, am I? Out on the mountain, Thorin said I had no business on this Quest – and he was right. I don't know what I was thinking.. I should have never left home.'

'You are homesick, I understand that.'

'No! No you don't understand, none of you do! You.. you are all used to this life, used to being on the road, to never belonging somewhere!'

Silence followed as Bilbo realised the weight of his words. Unbeknownst to him and Bofur, two other souls had also felt the painful truth in his words. 'I am sorry, I didn't mean…-'

'No, you are right; we don't belong anywhere.' He looked out at his sleeping kin for a moment, then turned back to Bilbo and clasped a hand on his shoulder. 'I wish you all the luck in the world, friend.'

Bilbo nodded, his heart heavy with the goodbye. He was about to turn away when the Dwarf's large hand on his shoulder halted him.

'What's that?'

Both looked down at the Elven sword attached to his belt. The blade radiated a bright blue light from within the sheath.

That was when the floor gave way beneath them.

The Company tumbled down in a mess of arms, legs and several screaming and cursing heads. At last, they hit a tilted platform and from thereon were none-too-gently deposited in a crudely crafted cage. As his kin complained around him, Thorin came to a profound realisation. The cave had been a trapdoor that had led them to what appeared to be the pits of Angband itself. Around him, a cavern stretched out as far as his eyes could see – which admittedly, was not as far as it used to be – and it was filled with hanging bridges, floats and walkways crafted in very much the same manner as their make-shift prison. The leader of the Company did not have time to comment however, for within mere seconds the walkway that was connected to their prison was filled with filthy goblins.

Being small, sickly looking creatures with disease-riddled skin and long, nasty claws and teeth, goblins made a close second on the list of what Thorin Oakenshield hated the most in the world – the first being orcs, the third place occupied by the Elven race. If the creatures themselves would not kill you, infection of the wounds sure would.

Despite their best attempts, soon the Company's weapons were taken out of their reach and they were forced along the shaky walkway. For several minutes they walked, enduring the sharp, searching claws of the filthy underground creatures as they made their way to a larger platform in the middle of the cavern.

When they neared the platform, the Company came face to face with the most disgusting thing that they had seen in their entire lives. Silently, Ori thanked Mahal that he had not eaten any freshly cooked meat that night, or the sight of the Great Goblin in combination with the direness of their situation would have surely made him spill his dinner. When the goblins finally released them in front of their sire, he inconspicuously inched closer to his older brother, Nori.

'Who would dare to come armed in the kingdom of the great Goblin King? The giant creature questioned. With difficulty, he rose from his throne – which the Dwarves and Elf noticed with some alarm was constructed of bones – and approached the Company.

'Dwarves, your malevolence,' one of the goblins that had been guarding them supplied.

'Dwarves?' The Goblin King repeated, then his eye fell on the She-Elf who, between all of them, stood out like a sore thumb. 'And what's this.. An Elf, in the company of Dwarves? What are you doing in these parts?'

The Company stood in silence, unwilling to share their Quest even if it could save their lives. At the same time, none knew whether the question had been directed solely to the Elf in their company and they were all waiting for the moment that she would spill their sacred Quest to their captors. To their surprise – and that of the Goblin King – she did not.

'Very well. If they don't want to talk, we'll make them _squeak_! Bring out the Bone Breaker; we'll start with the youngest!'

'Wait!' Thorin called out.

As soon as the Goblin King saw the Company leader, a sickening smile spread across its face. 'Well well well.. if this is not the great Thorin Oakenshield, _King Under The Mountain_.' He bowed deeply in mockery. 'I know someone who would be very interested in your head. Yes, the Pale Orc would pay a good price for you.' He laughed, the malicious sound echoing off of the cavern walls for a moment.

'Azog the Defiler was killed in battle long ago!'

'Ah, you think his defiling days are over, do you?' The despicable creature then turned to one of his minions. 'Send word to Azog. Tell him… tell him I have found his prey.'  
Then, all of a sudden, the remaining goblins crashed on them like a tidal wave. Every inch was searched, every crevice invaded until all weapons, valuables and even Oín's ear trumpet were thrown together in a large pile on the side of the platform. One of the goblins was curiously looking through the collection, probably sorting what could and what couldn't be used.

'Of course, Azog does not care what I do with the remainder of you. Maybe I…-'

The sound of a blade clattering on the wooden platform swallowed whatever it was the Great Goblin had wanted to say. His bulging eyes flashed in annoyance at the goblin who had dropped the sword, but then widened as they took in the object that had made the ruckus. 'I know that sword! That is the Goblin Cleaver!'

The other goblins shrieked in terror and recoiled from the Company for a moment.

The relief was short-lived, however, for the Goblin King's fear soon turned to anger. 'Kill them! Kill them all!'

And just like that the goblins were upon them once again, sharp claws scratching, hands tearing. Fíli tried desperately to stay close to his younger brother, but he was soon taken down. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kíli was equally set upon, but there was nothing that he could do.

Then they heard it; a hard knock of wood on wood before the cavern was temporarily filled with a light as bright as that of the sun. For a moment, all Company members were blinded. When their eyes at last regained their function, the goblins were strewn across the floors and Gandalf the Grey stood at the end of the walkway.

'Take up your weapons! Fight!'

The Dwarves did not need to be told twice. Nori and Dori, who were closest to the pile of belongings, quickly started picking up and throwing weapons to their respectful owners. Then they rushed into battle with their kin.

Bofur was fighting alongside his brother and cousin, working as a seamless unit as they slashed, hacked and cut at the charging goblins. He had just cut the head of another when the others started towards a connected walkway. He was about to follow when he noticed the tall, motionless form that remained behind.

'Miss?' He called out over the chaos of battle.

She turned to him, her eyes wide and her grip tight on her sword.

'We need to move!' He hacked the head of a charging goblin.

'Bofur!' His brother called from ahead, but the reminder was hardly necessary. From behind them, new goblins were approaching and Bofur hardly fancied losing the Company and being left to fight the creatures off alone. He looked to the side again, noticing the Elf still stood paralyzed. Grabbing her forearm, he started to run after the Company, tagging the She-Elf behind him.

As the Company ran, blindly trusting the Wizard to know the way, goblins charged at them from every possible direction. Most of them were efficiently cut down, others were simply pushed off the narrow walkways. I could of course bore you with all the details of the battle, of how the Company dispatched the goblins – at times very creatively – but I feel like that might not be very interesting. What is most important is that after running down many stairs, walkways and bridges and cutting down numerous foes, they reached a bridge where they encountered the Goblin King once more.

'You thought you could escape me in _my_ domain?!' He cried, taking a menacing step forward and swiping at the Dwarves and Wizard with his sceptre.

His answer was a poke in his left eye, a slash to the stomach, and then another to his gigantic chin by the Wizard. The weight of the giant goblin's dead body, however, proved too much for the unsteady walkway that they were standing on. The ropes broke and the walkway, with the Company on top of it, plunged into the dark abyss.

With some great balancing and no small amount of luck, they managed to stay on top of the walkway, riding it as one would a sled down a snowy hill. At last they reached the bottom of the cavern – and it seemed their luck had finally ran out, for the carcass of the Great Goblin landed right on top of them. With some difficulty and much cursing, the Company members managed to get out from underneath the body. Natural light could be seen from only a small distance away and the Company, with several hundreds of goblins on their heels, quickened their pace just a little more as they crossed the last hallway to the exit – and to safety.

Gandalf, who had been leading the Company through Goblin Town, stopped when they were out of shooting range, counting the members as they passed. He stopped in his counting when he saw a flash of golden hair, pale skin, and legs too long to belong to any Dwarf. 'My lady Ardhoniel?'

The Elleth nodded in greeting, her expression tensed although she did not suffer the same physical exhaustion as the Dwarves. When she spoke, her voice sounded a little pinched. 'Mithrandir, it is good to see you.'

Before the Wizard could say any more, a loud, heavy voice filled the clearing. 'You! You said that cave was safe!'

The She-Elf did not meet his eyes, but at least had the decency to look ashamed. 'I thought it was. I must have been mistaken; I apologise..'

'You apologise?' The Dwarven King echoed, then huffed.

Balin thought to himself that it had at last come; the moment that the dam would burst. Apparently, the Wizard thought the same – or maybe he didn't, for the mind of a Wizard is a mystery to all including themselves at times – for he interceded.

'Where's Bilbo?'

The Company looked around, only now noticing the absence of the Hobbit.

When no one answered, Gandalf shouted in anger: 'Has anyone seen Bilbo? Where is our Hobbit?'

'Curse the Halfling,' Dwalin said in annoyance. 'Now he has also gotten himself lost?!'

'I last saw him with Dori!' Another Dwarf piped up.

'Don't put the blame on me,' Dori shook his head. 'I didn't see him.'

'Well, when did any of you last see him?' Gandalf demanded.

It was the professional thief, Nori, who answered. 'I think I last saw him when we were led to the Goblin King.'

'What happened?'

'I'll tell you what happened,' Thorin interjected, his voice bitter. 'The Hobbit saw his chance and left us. He has thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth ever since he left home. No, I say our _Burglar_ is long gone.' He spat the title out.

'No he isn't.'

Despite herself, Ardhoniel could not help but smile at the sound of that familiar voice and turned to see him enter the clearing. 'Bilbo!'

'Bilbo Baggins! I have never been so happy to see anyone in my life,' the Wizard spoke, then patted the Hobbit on the shoulder. Others now also joined in, the relief palpable in their voices and their expressions.

'Bilbo!' Kíli called out in relief. 'I can't believe you got past those goblins!'

'How did you do it?' His brother wondered.

'How indeed?' Dwalin wanted to know, far less enthusiastic and might I say a bit sceptical.

Silence fell and Bilbo tucked his hands into the pockets of vest uncomfortably. Gandalf thought his behaviour rather curious – but decided not to question him at this moment. After all, they had bigger concerns. 'Well, what does it matter?'

'It matters,' Thorin argued stubbornly. 'I want to know: why did you come back?'

The Hobbit looked upon the Dwarven leader for a moment, then he lifted one corner of his mouth into a sad, half smile. 'I know you have always doubted me and I can't say you are wrong. I often think of Bag End; of my books, my armchair and my garden. Because that's where I belong, that's what is home for me. And that's why I came back. Because you don't have a home anymore. But I will help you reclaim it if I can.'

The clearing was silent for a moment. It was as if the Dwarves saw their Burglar for the very first time. And maybe they did. Before that all they saw was a burden: someone who could not fight, could not fend for themselves in the wild and only held them up. But now they saw more, they saw someone that had left the comforts of their home willingly to help mere strangers get theirs back.

The moment was broken by loud howling and a chill ran across all Company members' spines as they realised what was coming. Wargs.

'Out of the frying pan,' Thorin mumbled.

'And into the fire. Run!'


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter six: The Defiler**

The magical ring Bilbo found in the caves had appeared very heavy only moments before; as if everyone would be able to see it sitting in the front pocket of his vest. Now, as he was running for his life, spurred on ever faster by the howling behind them, the ring was all but forgotten. Not that it mattered at this stage of course . Bilbo would not have abandoned the Company – and, as opposed to us, he did not know the true nature of the trinket that he had found in the caves deep under the Misty Mountains.

He could hear the heavy breathing of Bombur, the rotund Dwarf having difficulty to keep up with the speed of the other, _lighter_ Dwarves and the long-limbed Wizard and Elf. However, his weight being what it was, he was still in front of Bilbo and as another howl sounded from behind him, Bilbo willed his short legs to move a little faster.

As his eyes were focused mainly on the act of running – and perhaps more importantly: not falling – the Hobbit did not notice the sudden exit from the forest and the subsequent stop of the Company until he quite literally ran into the back of one of the Dwarves. Looking up, Bilbo saw that they had reached a cliff. There was no path leading down and the drop would kill them if they fell. No, they had quite literally reached the end of the road.

'A dead end!' One of them, Gloín, cried out.

'We can't fight them off, we're outnumbered!' Dori returned.

'I will be damned if I go down without a fight!' Dwalin, ever the grim warrior, shouted, and several of the Dwarves agreed.

It was such a cacophony of noise that for a moment, Bilbo did not hear the approaching Wargs anymore. And for a moment, the Hobbit had hope. Maybe they had left. Maybe they had not been hunting them at all, but had merely been in the same area.

That's when another ear-piercing howl filled the evening air. Much closer than before. 'The trees,' Gandalf cried, just as the first Wargs could be seen among the cover of the wood. 'Climb the trees!'

In any other situation, they might have resisted. Was the Wizard mad, Dwarves climbing trees? However, the number of Wargs, combined with Orcs sitting on top of them, was too great a force for them to fight off.

Quickly, they scrambled for the three lonely trees that stood at the very edge of the cliff, their branching reaching eerily over the abyss. Kíli watched in something close to admiration as the Elven lady scaled the tree gracefully, positioning herself comfortably on one of the higher branches, before he hefted himself up from the ground with far less ease. It was not that he was afraid of heights – that would be absurd! – but he could not help but feel uneasy at not having solid ground beneath his feet.

Meanwhile, the Elleth's heart was also pounding rapidly – although that had nothing to do with the height or the exertion. Prowling Wargs appeared at the edge of the tree line, their teeth bared and their eyes mad and hungry. And Bilbo, she noted with alarm, was still down there.

Without a moment of hesitation, Ardhoniel dropped herself to lowest branch, right above where the Hobbit was standing. He held his sword out in front of him, but she knew it would do him little good against a whole pack of Wargs. With her arm stretched as far as it would, her fingers just managed to graze the collar of his waistcoat. From the corner of her eye, Ardhoniel could see that the vicious beasts were now charging, no doubt with the Hobbit as their first target.

Fisting her hand in the fabric as best as she could, it took the Elleth all her might to pull Bilbo from the ground – and deposit him not too gently on the branch with her.

The Hobbit turned to her, his eyes wide and the sword still clenched tightly in his hands. 'T-thank you!'

There was no time for pleasantries, however, for then the first Warg hit their tree and the occupants had to hold on for dear life. Ardhoniel prepared herself for another hit when suddenly all went eerily quiet.

Then, from the tree next to theirs, she heard it. 'Azog?' It was barely a whisper, yet the terror in the Dwarven King's voice was clearly audible.

Following his line of sight, she saw him. A pale Orc, greater than any she had ever seen, astride a white Warg. His body was carved with the markings of the enemy, his left arm replaced by a vicious claw.

'Do you smell it?' Azog the Defiler spoke, the Black Speech causing goosebumps to erupt all over her body. 'The smell of fear!'

Several other Warg-riding Orcs laughed, but they quickly silenced as the Pale Orc continued. 'I remember your father reeked of it, Thorin, son of Thraín.'

She wasn't sure if the Dwarves had understood the Orc's words, but the intention was surely clear. He was mocking their King.

'No,' Thorin mumbled, shaking his head softly as his eyes were still fixed on Azog. 'No, it can't be.'

A feral grin appeared on the Orc's face, then he waved the mace in his right hand. 'That one is mine; kill the others!'

Just like that, the Wargs crashed on the trees like water does on rocks. Biting, scratching and clawing at the bark, some damaged only the lower part of the trunk, while others reached higher and took down even the lowest branches of the trees.

In the background, the Company could vaguely hear another order from the Pale Orc, but they were too busy to pay it any mind when the first tree fell. As it crashed into the second, this one, too, was uprooted. With the falling of the trees, the Company jumped from one tree to another, then finally coming to rest in the final one. And yet they were not safe.

A malicious laugh could be heard from the Orc leader, knowing that it was only minutes before his Wargs felled the last tree. The Dwarf-scum was up the final tree, with nowhere to go. Soon he could finish what he'd started all those years ago.

'Fíli!' Gandalf called, throwing a blazing pinecone at the Dwarf in question. The young Dwarf seemed to understand his intention – and Gandalf secretly thanked the Valar that at least one Dwarf in that family seemed to possess some amount of common sense – and lit another cone with his. Then, he threw it at the Wargs below. Soon, the other Dwarves caught on and with their fiery ammunition, the rabid animals seized their attack.

The Wizard hardly had time to take a breath, however, for it was at that moment that the tree groaned loudly in protest. The Company members stilled in their cheers and looked down warily, though none was prepared when the tree fell.

Azog looked on as several of the Company clung desperately to the branches of the fallen tree, the gaping abyss beneath snapping at their feet. With something akin to a smile – had it been on a friendlier face – he watched their struggles, his cold eyes challenging.

From somewhere amidst the blazing fire and the screaming, that challenge was accepted. Despite their own troubles, the Company could not help but watch in awe as Thorin Oakenshield rose from the fire, his face set in determination and his blue eyes on the Pale Orc. As his feet hit solid ground, his walk turned into a run and with his Elvish sword drawn, he charged at his opponent.

In that moment, Ardhoniel did not believe she had ever seen something more awe-inspiring, more truly captivating than the Dwarven King charging at his foe. For a moment she forgot the sharp end of a broken branch that dug into her palm, the blood oozing and making her grip slippery. For a moment, she believed that they would prevail.

And then the spell was broken and he was thrown down by a swing from the Pale Orc's mace right into his chest. Before he had a chance to get back to his feet, the Warg bit down on his torso and with a vicious shake of his head, threw the Dwarf's body down several feet further like a rag doll.

'Thorin!' The Elleth heard herself call out, hardly aware that it was her own voice. She watched in horror as blood coated the Dwarven King's head and seeped from holes in his armor. Her hand automatically went for her back, but then she remembered that she had lost her quiver – left down in the depths of Goblin Town. Even if she could have reached her bow and an arrow, however, she would not have been able to shoot. And so she could only watch as the Company leader was again bitten down on by the Warg, the screaming of the other Dwarves by now only sounds in the background of her own heart's frantic beating.

Then all of a sudden the Warg dropped him and Ardhoniel noticed that the Pale Orc beckoned one of the other Orcs. He spoke to him in the Black Speech, but in all her terror, the words sounded far away and unintelligible to her.

When the smaller Orc put his blade at Thorin's neck, cold realization set in. Time seemed to slow as the vile creature lifted his arm, the sword hanging menacingly above the Dwarven King's head. Ardhoniel willed him to fight, to defend himself. To do anything. But he did not move – and from where the Elleth was hanging, he appeared already dead. She closed her eyes to the scene, knowing but not wanting to see what happened next.

The strangest sound then reached her ears. A battle cry, it seemed, yet not quite so. It was too high, too soft… She could not help it when her eyes flew open in response and the sight that they were met with, made her gasp. There was Bilbo – brave, little Bilbo – facing down the Pale Orc. Next to him lay the unmoving body of the Orc that only moments ago, had been about to behead the Dwarven King.

In the next moment, the tree shook violently as all Dwarves who were capable rallied to their King. As Ardhoniel pulled herself up to follow their lead, her blood-coated hand slipped and she almost made the several hundred-feet drop into the abyss. The tree groaned loudly in response and screaming could be heard from right next to her.

'I can't hold it anymore!' Dori bit out through gritted teeth, while holding tightly to the end of Gandalf's staff. His younger brother, Ori, was clinging tightly to his right leg, but the strain was visible on both of their faces. They were reaching the end of their strength and the jostle that had been caused by the Elleth's movement had almost been their undoing.

'Hold on!' Ardhoniel called franticly, trying desperately to come up with a way to help the brothers. Her arm could not nearly reach far enough to get to Dori, let alone Ori, and she could not hold their combined weights.

'I'm slipping!' Ori cried.

Pulling the bow from her back, Ardhoniel slipped it over the branch she was hanging from and towards a fork somewhat higher up the branch. Making sure it was secure, she gripped the lower limb of the bow tightly with her good hand, the soft wood familiar in her touch, and released her other hand's hold on the branch. For a moment, she was weightless – and the Elleth feared that she had overestimated the strength of the bow. She took a deep breath, pushing the fear that came with being suspended in mid-air, her life depending on the strength of her bow string, from her mind.

Reaching her bloodied hand out to the youngest of the Dwarves, she attempted to look more assured of her own actions than she was. 'Grab my underarm, Master Dwarf.'

Although his terrified eyes were fixed on her, he did not move.

'Ori, you must listen to me. My bow will not hold my weight in perpetuity. Transfer to me and climb up to the tree.'

'Do as she says, Ori!' It was his older brother who spoke, and as the young Dwarf hesitatingly grabbed hold of her forearm, Dori locked eyes with the Elleth for a moment. _Don't drop him_ , his eyes said. And she didn't mean to.

As his weight was transferred to her, Ardhoniel mustered all her strength to swing him up as far as she could. The young Dwarf quickly clambered to safety and she felt the weight literally and figuratively leave her body as he transferred his weight to the branch. She pulled herself up on the bow, her wounded hand outstretched to the branch above.

That's when Ardhoniel heard the familiar snap of a bow string.

And she fell into the abyss.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Hi everyone, hope you had a pleasant weekend! This week's chapter is a little short, I am afraid, and marks the ending of the Unexpected Journey. From hereon, the story will pick up and there will be more involvement of our OC. If you enjoy the chapter, let me know! (:**

* * *

 **Chapter seven: Far over the Misty Mountains**

Bilbo audibly breathed out in relief when he noticed his blonde companion – fellow passenger? – was stirring. The She-Elf blinked her long, golden eyelashes slowly, each time giving a glimpse of the clear grey that lay beneath. Bilbo had done a short inspection of her (and himself) when he had been first dropped behind her and had concluded that she seemed fine, with the exception of a cut on her hand; despite this, the skin that stretched over her sharp jawline was looking a little pale.

'Are you all right, Ardhoniel?' He asked her gently when he felt sure she was awake.

'I believe so..' She blinked again slowly, staring at the clouds that flew by, but clearly not registering it. All of a sudden, Bilbo became alarmingly aware of his arm that was still wrapped around her. With a start, he quickly pulled it back.

'Ah… I am so.. I didn't.. I was afraid you would fall off, you see. I..-' His face heated up, but the She-Elf luckily seemed unaware, still blinking confusedly at the passing clouds. At last she interrupted him.

'What happened?'

'You fell. Or well, so I believe. To be honest, I was occupied at that moment myself. I don't think you hit the bottom though,' he hurried to say, seeing her eyes grow wide at his words. That, however, was not the reason for her reaction.

'You saved Thorin!' She turned her head to the side, her eyes searching – but meeting nothing but the clear, early morning sky. In the far east, a red sun was already appearing at the horizon, but Bilbo reckoned it might be an hour or so before it would begin its journey through the sky. 'Where are the others?'

'They are below us, on their own eagles.'

'Eagles? Never mind answering that; where is Thorin? Is he all right?'

Bilbo scrunched up his nose for a moment, uncertain about the answer he should give her. To be honest, the fate of the Dwarven King had been weighing on his own mind for most of the journey, as well. He had done his best to save the Dwarf – yet he feared that he might have been too late and that his efforts had been in vain. 'I am… not sure.'

She nodded, her expression solemn as she took in his answer. She whispered something under her breath, the words smooth and foreign to him, then she sighed 'How long have we been traveling?'

'A couple of hours. I imagine we will land soon.' Of course the Hobbit had no real way of knowing. Silently, he wondered if the Eagles could not fly them all the way to the Lonely Mountain – but he held no great hopes.

After that, they lapsed into a comfortable silence. He noticed with some relief that the colour had returned to the Elven lady's cheeks and she looked more awake. In contrast, Bilbo himself now felt the full brunt of his adventure beneath Goblin Town and the battle with the Pale Orc weighing down on him – and he tried to remember the last time he had a good night's sleep or even a meal. Coming up blank, he allowed himself to lean against the strong body of the female in front of him as his eyes fell closed in exhaustion. Just a short nap surely wouldn't hurt…

* * *

The sun had already started its lazy journey across the sky when the Great Eagles started their descent. In decent places, it might have been already around teatime – but of course our Company was not in decent places. Instead, the Great Eagles landed on a rocky eyot several miles north and upstream from the Old Ford. The stone island was surrounded by small streams and rivers that fed into the Anduin, and east lay vast grasslands that were bordered by a seemingly impenetrable line of trees in the distance.

Despite their size, the Great Eagles were surprisingly gentle in their landing. Although the journey itself had been not entirely unpleasant (most were happy to rest their legs for a bit), the Company was relieved to feel solid ground beneath their feet again. Then, their attention turned to the Dwarven King, who had yet to stir.

The Dwarves all gathered around their leader, their voices low and anguished, as they talked to each other in whispers. It was as if they were afraid that speaking too loud would break the fragile state of stability he was now in; tip the scale for the worse.

'Get out of the way,' Gandalf huffed, shoving Dwarves left and right to make a path towards the Company leader. 'Move,' he called out rather agitatedly, when Dwalin would not budge. He sighed, the annoyance clear on his face as he continued 'I can't _help_ him if you won't let me near him, Master Dwalin!'

The burly warrior now stepped aside, but still kept a close eye on the Wizard as he put a hand on the King's forehead. He hummed to himself as if in confirmation, then moved his hand to the chest.

'He's breathing,' he mumbled 'But barely.'

'What does that mean?' Fíli questioned, his face expressionless, although the tension was clear in his voice.

'Will our Uncle be all right?' His brother added in a tight voice.

'I can help mend his spirit, but his body is beyond my healing abilities. If his will is strong, Thorin Oakenshield will survive.'

This was not the answer the Dwarves had been hoping for. Yet when the Wizard closed his eyes and started muttering in Elvish, they all held their breath.

' _Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, hear my voice. By the power that was vested in me by Manwë, King of the Valar, I call you back to the light._ '

Ardhoniel closed her eyes as the Quenyan words filtered in her ears. Even for her, one who was familiar with the language, the ancient Elvish chant had a strange sort of calming effect that could not be explained by anything other than magic. For a moment, it seemed all other sounds faded into the background; all birds seemed to quiet, the wind seemed to lie down and for once even the Dwarves made not a single sound.

Then at last, a sharp intake of breath, followed by loud coughing.

A smile stretched the Elleth's mouth, wider than would be expected based on her relationship with the Dwarven King. Opening her eyes, she was just in time to see Fíli and Kíli all but shove Mithrandir aside to get to who it was now certain was their Uncle. Heeding no mind to Thorin's injuries, the brunette Dwarf threw himself at him. His Uncle held him for a moment and spoke to him in low whispers in a language unfamiliar to her. They held each other for another moment, before at last the young Dwarf released Thorin.

Fíli then stepped forward, his face still expressionless but his eyes glazed over, and nodded his head at his Uncle. He then held out his hand, pulling the older Dwarf up and onto his feet.

It was at this moment that Bilbo turned away from the scene. He too had been worried for the Dwarven King's life, but now that he appeared to be out of immediate danger, he felt like he was intruding on a rather intimate moment between the Dwarf and his nephews. Moreover, he was still uncertain of Thorin's opinion of him.

'Burglar,' a familiar voice called out and the eyot once more went silent. The Hobbit flinched mentally, but tried to keep his shoulders back as he turned around to face the Dwarven King.

'Bilbo,' he repeated and for what might be the first time since they had met, the Dwarf's face seemed to soften. With the help of both of his nephews, he hobbled forward until he stood but a few feet away from the Hobbit. 'Before darkness took me, I saw a small figure stand before me. Against better judgment, it stood between myself and certain death.' Here he paused for a moment 'I owe you my life, Bilbo Baggins.' With those words, the Dwarven King bowed deeply for Bilbo. As he straightened, he clasped the Hobbit's forearm. 'I am sorry for ever doubting you.'

Bilbo shook his head at this, a sort of half-smile playing at his lips. 'No, you are quite right for doubting me. I would have done the same thing,' he smiled here, thinking back on when they had first presented him with the Contract. No, he had not believed in himself back then. In fact, he still did not quite believe in his value to the Company now. However, one thing was certain: he was not the same Hobbit that had left his home all those months ago.

It was at this moment that the Great Eagles decided to return to their home somewhere between the Rushdown and the Old Forest Road to the south. Startled by the unexpected movement, the Company followed their shapes until they were but dots on the morning sky. As they turned their heads back, many saw a sight they had not been prepared to see.

There, far off to the east, beyond planes and woodlands, a solitary peak rose up at the horizon. The older Dwarves gazed upon the mountain with a faded smile, the younger with wonder and awe.

'Is that… is that what I think it is?' Bilbo wondered out loud.

For once, Thorin could not be bothered by the Hobbit's questions and clasped a hand on his shoulder. 'Aye. That is the Lonely Mountain – our home.'

* * *

 **Author's Note: Quick note on this chapter. In the movie, I know the scene between Thorin and Bilbo was a lot bigger. Personally, I didn't like how big of a deal they made out of it and so I changed it to what I feel fits more with Thorin's character. What are your thoughts?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's** **Note: Well hello again dear readers! I hope you've all had a nice weekend and a good start of the week. I want to thank _LoveMeSomeFili_ and _Guest45_ for their review of last week's chapter. I am glad you liked my version of the scene! This one's for you, enjoy! (:**

* * *

 **Chapter eight: To catch a fish  
**  
As Thorin and Gandalf bickered about whether or not they would continue immediately – the former, despite his injuries, being the one demanding that they did – Ardhoniel sat down on a rock. She pulled her bow in her lap, her fingers trailing over the length of the wood as she took in the sad state it was in. The bow had been a gift from her father, the markings that swirled over the smooth wood well-wishes in her tongue. Although he had never truly agreed with her choice to learn how to fight, he had given her the bow as a present when she'd joined the guard. After taking good care of it for all those years, it saddened the Elleth to see the weapon like this. Surprisingly, the weapon itself had not broken under the combined weight of her and the young Dwarf, and it appeared that if she renewed the string, it would be usable once more.

The sound of a throat being cleared interrupted her thoughts 'Pardon me, Miss Ardhoniel?'

The Elleth looked up from her musings, her eyebrows raising in surprise as she found the eldest Ri family member standing in front of her. 'Master Dori,' she bowed her head in greeting.

'I wished to thank you for what you did on the cliff. If not for your actions, who knows what might have happened.'

She looked at the Dwarf curiously, then accepted his words with a dip of her head. 'There's no need to thank me, Master Dwarf. I did what I could – as I am sure any of you would have done in the same situation.'

'Naturally, he is our kin! But you're an..' He stopped abruptly there, looking embarrassed about what he was about to say. Despite not having finished his sentence, it was obvious what he had been about to say. She was an Elf. And they were Dwarves. 'I am sorry about your bow,' he continued on uncomfortably. 'Can it be mended? If not, I will personally ensure that you receive a replacement for it – as a repayment for what you have done.'

Ardhoniel shook her head 'No weapon will ever surpass the worth of a life – no matter its race. Although it is not broken beyond repair, I would give my bow anytime if it means that I can save a life.' She shook her head at him again. 'I appreciate your offer, Master Dori, but I would accept no payment for my deeds.'

He seemed uncomfortable at her words, but nodded in agreement nonetheless. 'Then at least accept my gratitude.'

'Very well,' she smiled at him and watched in slight amusement as he flushed and hastened away. It was only when the Dwarf left, that she noticed the silence that had befallen the Company. The bickering between the Dwarven King and Mithrandir had seized at last – and it appeared the Istar had gotten his way. Soon, the Company members were laying out what little things they had for a quick rest before they would set out again at nightfall. It was only now, in the uncharacteristic silence and peace, that Ardhoniel noticed the empty state of her stomach. And if _her_ stomach was empty, that would mean the Dwarves would be starving by now – to not even speak of our dear Hobbit!

She quickly checked whether her knives were still in place, and then made her way towards the giant steps that led down the eyot. She made it about halfway before a thundering voice called her back.

'Ah, lady Ardhoniel!' She turned around to find Mithrandir suddenly standing next to her, his eyes stern under his bushy grey brows.

'Mithrandir!'

He did not seem impressed by her wide smile. 'I've been meaning to have a word with you for _quite_ some time. And I think you know what it is about.'

'Surely it can wait? Now is not a very good time, but maybe I could…' She discretely took a few steps towards the stairs.

'Where do you think you are going, Elf?!'

Ardhoniel had never been so happy to hear that suspicious, grumbling voice as she was in that moment. In fact, as she turned to him – all too aware of the Istar that was glaring holes in the back of her head – she had a little difficulty to keep the relief from being visible on her face. 'Fishing. The eyot is surrounded by shallow waters and we need to restock, since our supplies were lost to the goblins.'

Thorin seemed to weigh her answer, clearly not being able to deny the truth in her words. Yet, he did not feel at ease with sending her down by herself. 'Take Kíli with you.'

'I could accompany the lady Ardhoniel,' Mithrandir spoke, his voice deceptively light.

'With all due respect,' here she looked pointedly at the Dwarven leader and the Istar. 'But these stairs were quite obviously carved for a creature far bigger than any here present. I can scale them easily, but any who would come along would only slow me down.' Ardhoniel took a step towards Thorin. 'I will catch some fish and then I will come back. I will be back in an hour's time, I promise.'

He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. 'Make sure you do.'

Before the Istar had any time to stop her, she made her way towards the stairs. As she dropped herself down the first step, she could swear she heard the old man grumble under his breath, but she chose to ignore it.

The large stair descending from the plateau proved to be a lot more tiresome than she had first predicted. Even with the length of her limbs and her general flexibility, each step was always just that bit too large, the drop that bit too high – and she did not at all look forward to the way back up.

When at last her feet met the earth, Ardhoniel was panting softly and the ache in her limbs betrayed the time that had passed since she had had a proper night's rest. To the east, she found the vast grass expanse that had been visible from atop the eyot and beyond, the looming darkness of what could only be Greenwood the Great. Involuntarily, a shiver ran down her spine as she gazed upon the once beautiful forest.

Stepping out to the shallow waters, the Elleth kneeled down and unwrapped the make-shift bandage that, upon closer inspection, appeared to have once been part of a white linen shirt. She smiled at it fondly as she concluded that Bilbo must have bandaged it while she was unconscious. Lowering her hand into the clear waters, she cleaned out the wound as best as she could. As the dried blood and dirt mingled with the water, Ardhoniel only now realised how dirty she had become over the days. Now was not the time for a bath though – certainly not while the Dwarves needed only to look down from the eyot to see her naked – and she quickly finished cleaning the wound before she bandaged it again with a fresh piece of cloth from her own tunic. With that out of the way, she moved to deeper waters to catch some fish.

Back on the eyot, Balin carefully approached the Company leader. He sat himself down next to him, muttering something about his "old bones", and gazed upon his life-long friend. 'How are you feeling?'

The Dwarven King turned his head to him and, quite uncharacteristically, lifted one corner of his mouth into a smile. 'As if I've been bitten down on and thrown around by a Warg.'

Balin chuckled 'Aye, I imagine that is not the best of feelings.'

'No,' Thorin agreed and the smile left his face. 'I still can't believe that Azog is still alive. _Mahalu-me turg_! They must have known we would take that path, to be so close already, Balin. But how did they know? Who could...' As he said this, his eyebrows lifted in realization and he glared at the top of the stairs. 'She must have let them know!'

'Thorin,' Balin put his hand on the other Dwarf's shoulder. 'Do you not think that you have been a little harsh on the lass? I am the last to say that we should trust the Elves, but surely she has done nothing to earn this particular distrust?'

'She said that cave was safe! If not for her, we might have never found ourselves in Goblin Town!'

'We have all made mistakes on this Quest, Thorin.' Balin paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle in. Then he continued: 'She saved young Ori.'

That had the desired effect; Thorin's head shot up and he looked at his friend in astonishment. 'She did what?'

It was at this moment that a bundle of.. _something_ , was thrown on the plateau. A golden blonde head soon followed behind it and Thorin recognised both at the same time. The latter was the She-Elf, the former her cloak – soaking wet and smelling distinctively fishy.

'I couldn't think of another way to get the fish up here,' she explained, seeing his raised eyebrows. Instead of going to her things – where Thorin noted in surprise that her bow still lay – she moved in his direction.

If that in itself was not odd enough, her crouching down in front of him and Balin sure was enough for the Dwarven King to almost grab his sword.

'Here,' she extended her hand to him and he looked down to find she was offering him some kind of weed. 'Asëa aranion; Kingsfoil. It has healing properties.. I believe.'

'You believe?' Thorin raised one of his eyebrows.

She blushed a little. 'Well, I am not a Healer, but I am fairly certain that it is used in the Houses of Healing in Imladris to speed up the healing of flesh wounds.'

'She's right, Thorin,' Gandalf called from across the clearing, not even opening his eyes as he was lazing against a rock. Whatever his and the She-Elf's argument had been about before, he must have decided to leave it for now.

With that confirmation, Thorin accepted the herbs from the Elf uncomfortably. When she turned to leave, and a sharp elbow from Balin in the broken ribs gave him that little push he needed, Thorin cleared his throat. 'Thank you. Also for what you have done for Ori.'

She appeared surprised at his words – and for a moment Thorin felt ashamed that she would expect anything else. Then she inclined her head. 'It was nothing. I will go and ask Bombur to prepare the fish for dinner.'

~ Mahalu-me turg = By Mahal's beard

* * *

 **Author's Note: Now that we have crossed the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood will soon be upon us, I would like your opinion on a matter. So far, I have mixed parts of the movies and the books, but have stayed closer to the movies overall. However, I have been uncertain about doing so when it comes to including Tauriel in the story. What do you think: Tauriel, yes or no? Let me know what you think about it (and the chapter) in a review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Hello everyone, I hope you've had a lovely weekend and I thank you for tuning back in on this story! That being said, there is a review left by one of my readers that I would like to address (it was posted as a guest, or else I would have replied in a PM). If you are not interested in reading my response, please skip the next paragraphs and move onto the actual chapter!**

 **Apart from issues with some of the choices Mr. Jackson made with regards to the movie (which I have nothing to do with, really!), you critiqued this story for being a script fic. I understand your concern, I really do, and I, too, hate it when OCs do not add anything to the story. However, I also hate it when they take over the story line completely from the start and do great deeds that often were accomplished by other members (in the case of the Hobbit, often Bilbo's) just to prove how awesome they really are.**

 **For this reason, I first wanted to introduce my OC as a character and show her character and abilities (and flaws!) rather than force them onto you with poorly worked out heroics. In fact, in my writing of this OC, I've tried very hard to make it clear that she is in fact not so heroic and maybe perhaps not that special at all. This will all become much clearer in next week's chapter and from thereon, I do plan to deviate more and more from the original plotline. I chose this approach, hoping that my readers will continue reading long enough to get past the character building, but of course I cannot force anyone to do that** – **nor can I force you or for that matter anyone to like this story. And that's okay.**

 **That all being said, I want to thank the lovely _Guest45_ for already responding to part of the other reviewer's concerns. You are amazing!**

 **Now, at last, on with the story!**

* * *

 **Chapter nine: Queer lodgings**

After a quick dinner of fresh cooked fish and under the cloak of night, the Company set out again. It was a slow process going down the giant, seemingly hand-carved steps that descended from the eyot. For the Dwarven King, the process was especially slow-going – and painful, for each movement jostled his many bruised and broken ribs. Thorin did not complain however, and his Company dared not comment. The stubbornness of Dwarves was legendary, and Thorin Oakenshield was a prime example of it.

When at last they touched even ground, a full moon was already high into the sky and somewhere, far, far from where our beloved Company was at that moment, good, decent people would be slumbering in their beds. As they stopped to drink from the river, Thorin surveyed their surroundings.

To the West, a range of hills largely shielded the Misty Mountains – appearing suddenly small and unimpressive – from view, and he wondered how far the Eagles had taken them. Was it far enough to shake off their pursuers?

He located the She-Elf not far away at the edge of the water and approached her. It was only when he was but a few feet away that he noticed she was not drinking like the rest of the Company, but was washing out what appeared to be a cut on her hand. 'You're wounded.'

She looked up, her grey eyes squinted as she looked up at him. 'It's but a shallow cut.'

'Shallow or not, it will greatly hinder you in a fight if it gets infected. Have Oín look at it.'

Ardhoniel appeared like she wanted to say more, but then – quite uncharacteristically in Thorin's opinion – she simply nodded. 'As you wish.' As the She-Elf moved aside, Thorin's eye fell on Bilbo – who, after the Elf, had the best eyesight out of the Company.

As Thorin stepped up to the Company Burglar, Ardhoniel prepared herself for another, perhaps equally uncomfortable, conversation. Approaching the elderly Dwarf, the looks she received from his ginger-haired brother were suspicious – but certainly not as hostile as they had once been, she noted with some small amount of victory.

'Excuse me, Master Oín,' she spoke gently. Then, when he did not respond immediately – and she remembered the Healer's hearing trumpet had been all but destroyed in Goblin Town – she repeated, in a far louder voice than she was used to: 'Master Óin!'

He turned at that and regarded the Elleth with some surprise. 'Aye, what can I do for you, lass?'

Ardhoniel held up her hand, still wrapped in a piece of her tunic, for him to see. 'I do not believe it is at risk of getting infected, but I am no Healer and I wished to ask, perhaps you would cast your professional eye on it?'

He took her hand with surprising gentleness. As he inspected the wound, the Healer murmured something under his breath that even the Elleth's sharp ears could not pick up. Then at last the old Dwarf sighed. 'Well, the good news is that it has not gotten infected yet.' He eyed the piece of ripped, dirty tunic with contempt. 'By some miracle.. Unfortunately, my supplies were all lost in the Goblin tunnels. For now, you must simply try to keep it as clean as possible – and pray to the Valar that we have time and supplies to bind it more properly in the near future.'

Bilbo chose that moment to return from his scouting mission. As he relayed – or tried to relay, at least – what he had seen to the Company leader, the Elleth found herself quickly blocking out the conversation. For as the Dwarves questioned the poor Hobbit (and all but drowned him out in the process), their voices every grew louder. Coupled with the lack of sleep and a lack of food, it was enough for Ardhoniel to almost shut down completely. Sinking down on a fallen tree, she rested her head in her hands for a moment, trying to ignore the all-consuming exhaustion and her still largely empty stomach. Even for Elves, who in general needed fewer sustenance and sleep, both were long overdue.

'… Like a bear?'

At the mention of the animal, all thoughts of food and rest left her mind, making room for flashes of something large, something black between the trees. As she'd been fishing, she'd blamed it on her exhaustion, but now…

'Ye.. Yes. But much bigger!' Bilbo exclaimed. As he spoke those words, all doubt left her mind about what she had seen earlier that day.

Suddenly all eyes returned to the Istar, as the realization sunk in that he had known what the animal was.

'I say we go back,' Bofur suggested, shifting on his feet as he threw a glance at the treeline not too far from where they stood.

'We cannot! The Orcs will run us down,' the Company leader shook his dark head. 'We have no choice; if the beast hunts us down, we must kill it!'

'There is a house,' Gandalf interjected, just in time to stop the Dwarves from getting even more riled up than was already the case. 'It is not far from here.'

Thorin regarded the Istar with suspicion, obviously still thinking about the last time the Maiar had coaxed him into going somewhere. 'Whose house; friend or foe?'

'Neither,' Gandalf responded grimly 'He might help us or kill us. But we don't have a choice.' As if in confirmation, a load roar cut through the dark night.

In the next moment, they were running. All fatigue, hunger and even wounds forgotten, the Company crossed the plains as one, hunted down by an invisible foe. The woodland they entered now was dark and oppressive – and seemed to amplify the noises of their pursuers. It was as if they were only several feet behind them, yet each time Ardhoniel dared to look over her shoulder, she was met only with treacherous shadows. As another Warg howl pierced the night, the Elleth watched in surprise as Bombur, normally the slowest out of all of them due to his size, came sprinting to the front of the line. His eyes wide and brows shot high, it was no mystery what was driving the rotund Dwarf.

At last, when the sounds of the Orc party appeared so close that they expected to be beset upon at any moment, the Company broke out of the woods and onto another plain. Sighs of relief could be heard from all around as they spotted the little house in the distance, surrounded by a large hedge, in the middle of the field. With safety in sight, the Company fanned out as they stormed towards the safe haven. Passing through the open gate and into a well-tended garden, they all but threw themselves at the large wooden door. After some fumbling, it was opened and they rushed inside – and only just in time, for the growling of the enormous bear could be heard from just outside.

'What was _that_?!' Ori wondered out loud, heaving heavily just like the rest of them.

'That… is our host,' Gandalf stated, his face contorted in a mix between amusement and utter seriousness. 'His name is Beorn and he is a Skin-Changer.'

As he said that, for the first time the Company members noted the sheer size of the small house. And it was a small house indeed, only the proportions were everything but! More strangely perhaps were the seemingly tame animals that filled the house – and were currently staring at the newcomers. As the others took this in, a muddled sense of recognition filtered into Ardhoniel's brain. The term sounded familiar and in her sleep and food deprived mind, she mused out loud. 'I believe I have heard of them. At times Man, at times bear, it is truly fascinating! I thought it was but a legend..'

'Yes, well.. I have always found the man more reasonable to deal with,' Gandalf added, seemingly more to himself. 'However, he has no love for Dwarves..'

'He's leaving!' Ori called out, spying through a crack in the front door.

'Get away from there,' Dori scolded his younger brother, pulling him to the centre of the room by his arm. 'I'm telling you, it's not natural – none of it! It must be some dark spell!'

Gandalf scoffed loudly. 'Don't be ridiculous! He is under no enchantment but his own, Master Dori, you would do well to remember that. Now, go to bed, all of you, get some rest; we will be safe here for tonight.'

As the Dwarves settled in for the night, Ardhoniel sank herself down on a chair by the hearth. Despite Mithrandir's assurances, the Dwarves would not rest easily in this unfamiliar place she knew, and so she prepared herself for taking watch. She had only just sat herself when scraping could be heard and another large chair appeared by the fire. 'Go to bed; I will not find rest in this place anyhow.'

She was surprised to see that it was Thorin who had sat himself beside her. His blue eyes were fixed on the hearth and the light of the fire was casting queer shadows on his face that played with the Elleth's mind. 'I will, thank you.'

As she laid down on one of the blankets that Mithrandir had pulled out of a cupboard, her hand automatically went to the hollow of her neck as she rested her head on a make-shift pillow. When it did not meet the familiar cold touch of her necklace she was reminded of its loss. Ardhoniel forced back the first tear as she tried not to think of the significance of the lost jewellery. When further tears would not be held back, she pushed her face a little deeper into the pillow, determined not to let the other Company members see her grief.

When she finally found sleep, the Elleth's dreams were plagued by images of a mountain pass, an Orc ambush and a fair woman with a pale golden head and piercing blue eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Hello dear readers! Welcome to the 10th chapter of Bâhukhazâd! Starting with this chapter, we will start deviating more and more from the canon story line and with much more original content of yours truly. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter ten: Many meetings**

The next morning, Ardhoniel was woken by sunlight warming her face and the strangest sensation of a warm, soft body nestled closely against hers. As she opened her eyes, it took her several moments to place the giant open window that let in the light – and a moment longer for the realization to set in that somewhere during the night, a small goat seemed to have found its way under her blanket.

They were at Beorn's house… the Skin-Changer.

Loud, familiar voices drifted towards her from a little ways down the main hall of the house. Careful not to wake the baby goat, the Elleth extracted herself from her blanket and stretched her aching muscles. For a moment, she doubted whether or not to strap on her weapons, but then decided against it and walked towards where the Dwarves could be heard.

'You are not a Dwarf,' a loud, rumbling voice concluded.

Ardhoniel looked up, surprised that anyone had seen her slip in, quiet as she had been. Then again, she must have stood out like a sore thumb between thirteen bearded Dwarves, one child-sized Hobbit and a grey robed, bearded and hatted Istar. The man who had addressed her stood tall and broad. Both his face and every inch of his bare skin that she could see was covered in coarse hair and he had a rough and dangerous appearance. Still, his eyes did not regard her unkindly. 'I am not. My name is Ardhoniel of Imladris, at your service,' here she bowed.

'I am called Beorn and I welcome you to my house, my lady.'

It was silent for a moment as she sat herself down between Bilbo and Kíli. As she filled her plate with some fruits, bread and honey, Beorn spoke once more.

'You need to reach the mountain before the last of autumn?'

'Yes, before Durin's Day,' Gandalf nodded.

'Then you are running out of time.'

'Which is why we will go through Mirkwood, there's no other way I am afraid. Going around it would take us weeks, perhaps months, never mind the dangers we might encounter in those places.'

Beorn regarded the Wizard for a moment, his bushy eyebrows drawn as he shook his head. 'A darkness lies upon that forest; a sickness has taken root beneath those trees. There are whispers of an alliance between the Orcs of Moria and the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. I would not venture there unless I had no other choice.'

As Beorn spoke about the once beautiful Elven kingdom, Ardhoniel felt a shudder run down her spine. Unbidden images of a dark figure, cloaked in the shadow of night rose in her mind's eye and whisperings in an evil language, too low to make sense of, drowned out Gandalf's answer. Shaking her head to clear it from the hallucinations, she noticed Bilbo started at the sudden movement. His head shot up and his hands quickly stilled in his lap. She offered him an apologetic smile, which the Hobbit returned somewhat sheepishly.

'The Elven Road?' Beorn repeated, questioningly, then turned his head to look at the Elf as he continued. 'The Wood-Elves are not as wise as their kin. But, it matters not.'

'What do you mean?' Thorin asked the Skin-Changer, his voice tense and demanding.

'These lands are crawling with Orcs and you are on foot. You will never even make it to the forest.' He pushed back his chair and picked up a little mouse that had been meandering through the various jars, mugs and plates on the table. 'I do not care for Dwarves; they are greedy and blind, and care more for their riches than for the lives of those that they deem lesser than their own.' As he said this, he approached the Dwarven leader and stared down at him with an impenetrable look. He was silent for a moment as he stood before Thorin, then he sighed. 'But I hate Orcs even more. You can stay here another night to rest; I will provide you with food and other provisions. Tomorrow you will set out at first light on my ponies.'

* * *

After breakfast, Ardhoniel took her bow and went to sit under a great oak tree in Beorn's garden. Laying the weapon in her lap, she fingered the dark golden wood of the bow absent-mindedly as her thoughts trailed off to what had happened during breakfast.

She had never experienced anything like it. Although Elves were generally sensitive to all that happened in the world – the good _and_ the bad – never before had she experienced evil so deeply, so at the very core of her soul. And the whispers; Ardhoniel did not know what they had come from, but…-

'What are you doing?'

Startled, she looked up to find Thorin standing in front of her, a curious look on his face. To her surprise, he had discarded his armour and weapons, and was clothed in a simple blue tunic. It made him look less cold and almost pleasant to look at. Even more to her surprise, she found she had no qualms admitting it. 'I wanted to put a new string on my bow, but I am afraid I got lost in my thoughts.'

'You seemed tense.'

'They were not necessarily good thoughts. You may sit… if you like.' She gestured to the spot beside her.  
If she was surprised at her own behaviour, she certainly was when the Dwarf did as she said. When he sat, he eyed the weapon in her lap. 'What will you use to string it?'

Instead of answering his question, to Thorin's annoyance the She-Elf only smiled as she reached up and plucked a golden hair from her head. As she went to work on tying it to the upper limb, she said conversationally 'I learned almost everything I know about arching from one of my older brothers. He was a strict teacher, but then again I suppose I was a difficult student.' Here she chuckled and Thorin found his lips twitching up as well against his own volition. He did not know why she was telling him this, but he found that he did not mind getting to know the Elven lady a little better. 'Sometimes, he, my other brother and I would go camping in the wild and they would teach me other things as well. How to find a good camping spot, how to build a fire. One day he was teaching me how to hunt. We were sneaking up on a deer and I was so tensed that I accidentally snapped my bowstring. My momentum made me tumble backwards, down a hillside and into a puddle of mud. After laughing long and deeply at my expense, he helped me up again and taught me to restring the bow with my own hair.'

'And the deer?'

'Oh it ran off of course,' she laughed, the smile pulling up her cheeks and making her sharp cheekbones seem a little less pronounced. As she was now, there was something beautiful about her that Thorin could not quite put his finger on. Nor did he want to.

You don't really care for them, do you?' She asked tentatively, effectively pulling him from his disturbing thoughts. She was looking at two rabbits that were hopping past only a few feet away from where they were sitting. There was no judgment in her voice, yet there was something heartfelt about it that made him want to not disappoint her.

Thorin watched as the rabbits stopped to look at the Dwarf and Elf curiously, as if they were the odd pair – and perhaps they were. 'I value them for what they mean to me. Cattle, beasts of burden.. food. It is different for me than it is for you, I suppose. You're an Elf, it's in your nature to care about all that lives and grows.'

She sat silently for a moment, her grey eyes thoughtful and the smile gone from her face. It was happiness he decided, then – happiness is what had made her seem beautiful. It made her sharp features a little less unforgiving. It softened the steely grey of her eyes. And he felt like it softened something deep inside of him as well. 'I do not believe that,' she said at last, slowly, her head tilted curiously to the side. 'I believe we are what we are brought up to be. From an early age on, Elves are taught the value of the lives around them – even of those that are not the same as us. We were not born loving animals, Thorin.' A sad smile played at her lips 'Just like you were not born distrusting us.'

The last comment caught him off-guard and Thorin pushed himself off of the ground. For a moment he stood there, wanting to say something to her; tell her she was wrong, that she did not understand, that she did not know anything about him. When no words came to him, he stormed off towards the house.

As Ardhoniel stared at his retreating back, she could not help but feel confused and a little upset at the sudden ending of their conversation. What had she done? Moreover, why could he not just talk to her about it, instead of walking away? She was trying so hard to be accepted, but somehow it seemed she would never be good enough in the Dwarven King's eyes.

Quickly, she finished tying the new string to her bow, tested it and then jumped up herself. Dusting off her clothes – which really made no difference in the overall dirty state of her person – she decided she would go take a bath. That morning, Beorn had informed all of them (with quite a bit of insistence) that there was a stream that ran behind the house where they would be able to safely clean themselves. It would be nice to wash the weeks' worth of dirt and grime from her body. Not to mention, it might sooth her mind a little.

Bofur was seated against the house next to the door, his floppy head lopsided on his head and a pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth, and the Elleth meant to only nod at him in passing. 'Oh I would not go in there.' At seeing her raised eyebrow he continued 'I don't know what you said to him but I think you best leave him alone for a bit.'

'Oh I was just..-'

'I am just joking with you lass,' he laughed at her puzzled expression, then he gestured with his pipe at her bow. 'I see you got that fixed.'

'Yes. It only needed a new bowstring, it was no problem.' She showed the bow to him, as if to prove her point. Ardhoniel was about to open the door when it already swung open and out came a tall, grey cloaked figure. Inwardly, the Elleth cursed her luck.

'Ah, my lady Ardhoniel, just who I was looking for,' his tone was neither friendly nor unfriendly as he stated this, but his eyes were grim as he regarded her from under his bushy eyebrows. 'Master Dwarf, if you do not mind I would like to speak to the lady Ardhoniel… _alone_.'

'Yes, of course, Mr. Gandalf.' Taking his pipe, Bofur scrambled to his feet and, with a wave of his floppy head, went inside the house.

'Would you walk with me?'

The Elleth nodded, feeling that despite it being posed as a question, she really did not have a choice. This time she would not get out so easily.

They walked in silence through the apiary for a short time before at last the Istar came to a halt. When he turned to her, his face was treacherously expressionless. 'I think you can imagine you are the last person I expected to find.' He paused here 'Do they know?'

' _Nan Belain,_ no! They would never let me come if they'd know.'

'And your father?'

'I… I left him a note.'

'A note,' Mithrandir exclaimed 'A note? You left in the dead of night, to travel hallways across Middle-Earth on a Quest from which you might not return… and you left your father a note?!'

She cringed at his words, suddenly feeling like a small Elfling again. 'Please, Mithrandir…'

The Istar frowned deeply at her in disapproval 'This Quest was complicated enough as it was. However, as it is I might be able to find use of you after all.' He turned his back on her and walked away. 'May Manwë protect us...'

When the Elleth had at last recovered enough to return to the house, it was near empty and she was informed that they had gone for a bath. What a fine day it was turning out to be..

~ Nan Belain = By the Valar

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. If you did, let me know in a review! Also, I'm repeating a question I asked two chaps back: do you want Tauriel in this story or not?**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Hi all, I hope you are doing well! With the arrival of chapter 11, we are almost ready to leave the safe haven of Beorn's home and head back into the fantastic, exciting, dangerous... orc-infested world that is Middle-Earth! However, before that, there are still some things that need to be gotten out of the way... My thanks to _Guest45_ and _8_ for their reviews on last week's chapter; your preferences are duly noted! (; Now, on with the story!**

* * *

 **Chapter eleven: Checkmate**

'Ah… Aha! Checkmate again!' Bilbo exclaimed as he placed his black bishop right in front of the white king. He gazed up at the She-Elf sitting across from him – whose face had considerably soured throughout the course of their two games of chess. Before he could say anything to downplay her two defeats, however, loud clapping accompanied by booming laughter approached them.

'Well done, little squirrel! You defeated an Elf – twice, ha! That is no small feat, with ages of wisdom and practice behind them.'

'I am not that old!' Ardhoniel protested, her brows drawn and still looking decidedly unhappy. However, Bilbo noticed a smile was tugging at her lips and so he dared give in to his curiosity.

'How old is that then, if I may ask?'

He noticed she looked thoughtful for a moment – which surprised Bilbo greatly, as it seemed unlikely that someone would not remember their own age. Then again, Elves did live an awfully long time and perhaps birthdays lost their meaning after an age or two. That being said, Bilbo could not imagine he would ever forget his own birthday.

'I was begotten in the year 2245 of the Third Age. So that would make me…'

'696!' Bilbo called out, then he frowned 'No, you certainly can't… I mean you look so young!'

'Who looks young?'

Bilbo and Ardhoniel looked up to find the front door open and a small troupe of Dwarves making their way in. The one who had spoken was, of course, young Kíli – looking certainly a lot cleaner than he had done mere hours ago. 'Ardhoniel does,' at seeing the looks the Dwarf was giving him, the Hobbit wildly shook his head 'Oh that is not at all what I meant! I was just… oh never mind it!'

'Are you trying to woo the lady, Bilbo?' Kíli asked innocently, but his eyes were twinkling. 'Fíli and I could give you all sorts of advice for that!' With that, he gave his brother, who had come over to see what all the ruckus was about, a firm slap on the shoulder.

As Bilbo was fumbling and was slowly growing red in the face at the thought of what the Dwarf was suggesting, Ardhoniel found her foul mood – induced not only by her loss at chess but all the events of that day – lighten a little bit. And so she decided to help her friend out.

'To return to your observation, Bilbo,' she pointedly looked at the two Dwarves 'Elves do not grow physically older after they reach maturity. That being said, I _am_ quite young for Elven standards,' she tapped her chin for a moment 'Why, my sister, who of my siblings is closest to me in age, is reaching her third millennium.'

As the Hobbit and Dwarves marvelled at his, the Elleth quickly stole away from her seat, grabbed a dagger from her sleeping spot, and made towards the door. She had waited patiently all afternoon for the Hobbit and then the Dwarves to have their turn at bathing. Now that it was finally her turn, she would not be stopped by their curiosity – no matter how hard the two Dwarven brothers called for her not to leave.

She made her way around the house leisurely, enjoying the feeling of the sun on her skin and the soft wind that blew against her uncovered forearms. After all this time on the road, she had been happy to shed the heavy outer layers of her gear, leaving her in her ripped tunic and mud, blood and other filth smudged breeches. Like their wearer, they were much in need of a bath.

When she passed through the undergrowth that shielded the stream from the house, Ardhoniel came to a sudden stop. Despite her mind repeatedly telling her to look away, her eyes seemed fixed on the figure in the water – and she suddenly realized that the Dwarven brothers may not have been calling her back out of curiosity. The other Dwarves had come back from bathing before she left and she had not thought about counting their heads – there was no way she could have known, the Elleth repeatedly told herself. And yet she did not turn away when she should have. Instead she watched as the muscles in his broad back moved under tanned skin as he combed through his wet, black mane with practiced ease. Her eyes travelled down the back of his naked torso, taking note of all the scars and wounds that littered it, old and new, but more so in admiration of the sheer prowess that was visible from his broad shoulders to his relatively slim hips and…

Ardhoniel blushed as she thought at what lay just below the water line. She quickly raised her eyes up to his torso and… into his eyes? Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline as she locked eyes with the Dwarven King. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and then quickly turned around in a mixture of embarrassment, confusion and something else simmering just below the surface Ardhoniel could not place. The bundle of nervous energy that had formed from all the day's events was pulsing inside of her and the Elleth could tell that it was building up to a crescendo – and from experience she knew it was only a matter of time before it would burst.

'Wait!'

She froze on the spot at his unexpected request. Turning around slowly, she forced herself to meet his gaze head-on. She wanted to get out of there, before her raging feelings could get the best of her. When he gave no sign of going to speak, she raised one eyebrow 'What is it?'

'I… You… I just wanted to say that you were wrong.'

'I was _wrong_?' She repeated, her voice higher than usual, then she huffed. 'Of course I was wrong. In fact, I don't think so far I have done anything right in your eyes, have I?' Without waiting for a response, she continued. 'Ever since we left Rivendell, I tried my best to do good by this Company, by you! I collected firewood, I took watch, I helped anywhere I could to prove my worth to you. But more so, I accepted your distrust, your demeaning, belittling attitude and all the jabs and insults that you've thrown at me, either directly or indirectly. But still, you think of me as no more than an untrustworthy, treacherous Elf, do you?'

Silence rang in the little clearing and all Ardhoniel could hear was the blood pulsing through her veins, accompanied by her erratic heartbeat. Now that she had voiced her anger, she suddenly felt strangely empty. When no response came, she readied herself once more to leave – and to accept that this might be it. After what had just happened, why would Thorin even consider letting her continue on with them

'Wait… Ardhoniel.' He cursed in Khuzdul 'Turn around. We are not done – but I'd prefer to continue this conversation while dressed.'

Perhaps it was the shock that he was talking to her – and in quite reasonable a voice, too – or maybe it was simply that she was beyond the point of caring anymore, but Ardhoniel did as she was told without a complaint. Even if she tried not to pay attention to it, her sensitive ears could not help but pick up on all the little sounds that notified her of the progress behind her. The sound of him wading through the water, then the first, heavy step on dry land – the pitter-patter of drops of water that fell from his mane – and then the telling rustling of clothes being put on and fastened.

'You may turn,' he said at last.

When she turned, she noticed he had sat himself on a log down by the water – a sound she had missed. She watched as he patted the place beside him, echoing her words of earlier that day 'You may sit if you like.'

'I'd prefer to stand.'

'Very well,' he sighed deeply and she watched his face contort with pain for a brief second, before it was gone again in a matter of seconds. 'I suppose an apology is in order.'

Her eyebrows raised ever so slightly in surprise, but she otherwise remained silent.

'Not just for my behaviour earlier today, but for my behaviour during this entire Quest. You are right, you did not deserve it. However, I stand by what I said before: you are wrong.'

'And why is that?'

'You likened my hatred for your kind to the love of your people for nature. But my feelings for your kind were not taught by my parents or my culture. In fact, when I was but a young prince, my grandfather often had dealings with Elves in Erebor. Although we did not share the same values, we could respect and live side by side one another.' His face darkened as he continued. 'But when the Lonely Mountain fell and we came to the Elves in need, they turned our back on us. We lost everything to the fire. Not only our homes, but also our belongings, our lives… even our loved ones. Yet when we came to King Thranduil, with nothing but the singed clothes on our back, he sent us away.'

Ardhoniel listened to his heartfelt recount with a growing heaviness. Of course she had heard the tale of the Fall of Erebor. Of course she had known of the Woodland King's decision not to help them. Even still, hearing it now she suddenly gained a better understanding of the Dwarven King. She searched for words, anything to express the guilt that was eating away at her. 'I am sorry.' For being difficult. For not understanding. It wasn't enough, yet he seemed to grasp her meaning all the same.

'No, I was wrong to take it out on you. You are no great Elven Lord and I cannot blame you for the decisions of one. I hope you will accept my apology,' he bowed his head.

She closed the small distance between them in two large strides, then tiredly sat herself down on the log next to Thorin. 'You did only what you thought was best by your people, I see that now. I cannot fault you for that.'

They shared a moment in silence and perhaps for the first time, there was no tension in the air between them. Out on the Eyot, Thorin had for the first time seen Bilbo Baggins for his value. Perhaps now by the little stream behind the house of Beorn, he got a glimpse of the value of Ardhoniel of Imladris. And as for her part, she felt like she finally understood the King-under-the-Mountain.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Love it, hate it? Let me know in a review! Also, this is one of your last chances of giving me your preference for Tauriel's presence/absence in this story. Take it if you haven't already!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! I hope you've all had a nice weekend. We will now be entering Mirkwood** – **as the title of this week's chapter suggests. I did not receive any reviews concerning the appearance of Tauriel in this story on last week's chapter; please note that if you want to make your opinion known, this chapter will be the last chance you have to do so! That said, enjoy the chapter** – **and don't forget to review!**

* * *

 **Chapter twelve: Greenwood the Great**

When the Company set out at first light the next morning, their bellies were filled, their heads rested – and they were in a far better mood than they had been since even before they had crossed the Misty Mountains. Despite this, they were not completely at ease on the lent ponies, and every sound or sight caused them to start, weapons already at hand.

This tenseness did not improve when they reached the edge of the forest. If the overall evil presence of Mirkwood was not enough to crush even the liveliest of spirits, the announcement of the departure of the Wizard sure was.

'You're leaving us?' Bilbo asked, his voice higher than usual.

Gandalf stopped his rummaging in the saddle bags for a moment to spare the Hobbit a grim look. 'I would not if I had any other choice, my dear Bilbo.'

They spoke in hushed tones for a moment, and from where Ardhoniel was standing Bilbo appeared to be somewhat nervous. However, she quickly dismissed that thought when Gandalf clapped the Hobbit on his shoulder amiably, before going back to his horse. When all bags were secured, he turned to Thorin.

'I will meet you at the overlook; do _not_ enter the Mountain without me.' As he got on his horse, he threw a mistrustful look at the old forest. 'This is not the Greenwood of old. You would do well to be careful. It will use every opportunity to lead you astray.'

'Lead us astray?' Nori repeated, his arms crossed in front of his chest and one, thick eyebrow raised in question.

'The very air you breathe is heavy with magic. You will not get to the other edge of the forest if you stray from the Elven road. And that is exactly why you will need to trust the lady Ardhoniel to lead you.'

'What?!' Dwalin called out in outrage, but Ardhoniel hardly noticed it.

She herself was looking at the Istar in shock – and betrayal. So that was what he'd meant when he said he'd found use for her. As Thorin tried to reason with the warrior, the Elleth quickly slipped closer to the Wizard.

'What is this about?' She demanded. 'I know this forest just as well as any of them do – and that is to say, not at all!' She sneaked a glance to the group of Dwarves, to find Dwalin was already staring at her through narrowed eyes.

'Yet you are an Elf and they have to follow the Elven road,' Gandalf spoke calmly, as if that made his decision perfectly sensible.

'How am I supposed to lead them across a hidden road through an enchanted forest that I have never travelled? Mithrandir, this is madness!'

'Madness,' he huffed and he fixed her with a very displeased look 'Madness is what brought you on this Quest to begin with! Now that you are here you might at the very least be of some use!'

While the Elleth attempted – and failed – to reason with the Istar, Dwalin spoke his mind to his King. 'Should we trust her?'

'Gandalf asked her to come.'

'And yet they do nothing but argue,' Dwalin huffed, making it a point to stare at the back of the She-Elf in question. 'I have kept an eye on her, Thorin. She appears clumsy, hot-headed and in the only fight that we encountered so far, she froze in the midst of battle. If I didn't know better, I'd say she has as much experience as the boys – if not less so.'

At this point, Ardhoniel turned her head in their general direction, as if having heard his words. Their gazes crossed for a moment – Dwalin never breaking the eye-contact – until she looked back to the Wizard.

In the moment that passed, Thorin considered his words carefully. There was truth in his friend's words, he knew, for he too had noticed that the Elf at times appeared to be rather… un-Elvish. Yet, he felt it was unfair to now judge her on the exact opposite of what had made him distrust her in the first place. 'Whatever the situation is between the Elf and the Wizard, we don't have a choice. We're traveling an Elven road and as the case is, she's the only Elf in our company.'

Before Dwalin could object, the Elf stepped back towards the Company, a grim look set on her face. Whatever the discussion with the Wizard had been about, it could not have been anything pleasant.

'Grab only what you need; we will travel light,' she addressed them, then as she turned she continued in a lower voice that only Bilbo's sensitive ears picked up: 'That we may leave this accursed forest behind us as quick as possible.'

* * *

The evil magic of the forest did not affect them as abruptly as one might think. Make no mistake, from the moment they stepped foot into Mirkwood, the very air itself seemed to become thinner, yet at the same time heaver; as if they were wading through a tangible mist. The forest was silent and quietly decaying, and the world below the canopy of trees was trapped in an eternal twilight, apart from the nights where all would turn to black.

That being said, the spell that lay on the forest had a much more subtle influence on the Company's minds at first, hardly noticeable until they were too deep in the forest and ensnared in its magic to turn back.

The first day passed by quite like the days on the road had before – with the exception of the female Elf that was now leading the way. After leaving the Wizard at the forest edge in the late morning, the Company spent the rest of the day on the road, stopping only when the last light under the trees was leaving them.

'We should make camp for the night,' Thorin announced 'Fíli, Kíli, go collect some wood for a fire.'

'No!' Ardhoniel said, her voice ringing loudly in the silence of the forest. 'Mithr- Gandalf said we cannot stray from the path or we may never find it again!' Her statement was met with expressions of various stages of disbelief, although she noted that Bilbo looked properly shaken.

To her relief, Thorin sighed and nodded – perhaps more out of a wish to avoid conflict than in actual agreement. 'We will camp on the road tonight.'

His order was met with slight grumbling about the hard ground and a cold meal, but soon the Company settled itself on the foliage covered road. Little conversation was exchanged that night and as Gloín settled himself for the first watch, the remainder of the Company tried to find sleep in the eerily quiet and pitch black forest.

* * *

When Ardhoniel started awake, it was still dark out. Moreover, it was still quiet – and she wondered what had awoken her in the first place, her dreams already having faded beyond the point of recollection. There was the familiar chorus of snores around her, but instead of calming her like it usually did, the sound put her on edge. It was too loud in the darkness of the forest, and she suddenly felt very exposed.

She sat up on her bedroll, gripping the dagger that she kept hidden under the pillow tightly. With her free hand, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. There was something nagging at her, just beyond the edges of her consciousness. Something was not right, her heart told her, yet her mind could not tell her why.

Deciding that she would not find any more rest anyway, Ardhoniel sighed deeply before she stood. Stretching her limbs, she found that her body had not agreed with sleeping on the hard road. Still, if she were to believe Mitrandir's words – which, despite their disagreements and the Istar's general tendency for dramatics, she did not doubt for a second – it was still to be preferred over the faith they would meet if they strayed.

'Elf, is that you?' It was Gloín – which meant that she could not have slept for all that long.

'Yes, it's me. All quiet?'

'Too quiet,' he grumbled and she heard the hilt of his axe hit the forest ground. 'However, there is something else… I have the feeling that we are being watched.'

His words caused her to shiver, for it confirmed her own feelings. Yet, even her sharp Elven sight and hearing could not detect anything in the dark night. Ignoring her own fears, she swallowed. 'I am sure it is nothing, Master Gloín, just the animals of the forest. Get some rest, I will sit the remainder of the watch.'

'Thorin said I was supposed to wake him when I was getting tired..'

'With his wounds still mending, I am sure he could use some rest. Besides, I will find no rest in this place tonight.'

At last, Gloín grunted his agreement.

She listened as he lay down on his bedroll, his axe clanking against the stoney surface not too far away from him. She knew he would keep one hand wrapped around the hilt, like all the Dwarves did when they felt unsafe. She knew that he would normally take out the locket from his armour and would look at the portraits of his wife and son before he went to sleep. She doubted he would be able to do it now, in the pitch blackness of the forest.

When a deep snoring finally joined the others, Ardhoniel felt a little weight fall from her shoulders.

During their travels together, she had gotten to know each of the Company members far more intimately than one would in any other situation. She knew Dori liked rules and details. He liked fussing over them, and over his brothers – even though he sometimes pretended he did not. He liked wine with a bouquet, camomile tea, and was perhaps the only Dwarf in the Company that cared whether their food was served in an old, wooden bowl or on a silver plate.

Then there was Bombur, whose perhaps most distinguishing characteristic – after looking beyond his rather outstanding girth – was his kindness. At least for Dwarf standards, he was a bit silent, preferring to listen rather than speak, and during their time together, had not once been unkind to her. Moreover (and returning to the obvious), his love for food rivalled that of Bilbo.

Ardhoniel thought about all of the other Dwarves that she had come to know to a greater or lesser extent; each with their own little quirks and habits. Knowing them so intimately, she felt that it had become impossible not to care about their well-being – even of those that cared little for hers. During their time on the road, they had become like family to her – some that you loved, some that you liked and some that you wish you would not have to see too often, but family nevertheless.

It amazed her how much had changed since she had left Imladris. Ten days. It had only been ten days since she had set out from her home, and yet it felt like the passing of an era – and perhaps it had been, for her. She was not the same Elf that had left her home. Even now, she could feel it. She had changed, and was still changing. Time would have to tell whether it was for the better.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: Hi everyone! Hope you've all had a lovely weekend. I would like to thank _Guest45_ for their lovely review, reviews like yours make the writing experience so much better! This one's for you; enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter thirteen: Durin's sons**

The next morning they had set off again at first light. The Dwarves were grouchy – grouchier than usual, that is – and there was little conversation exchanged that morning. It was nearing noon, and they had stopped for a quick lunch while their Elven guide was searching for the road, when Thorin at last approached her.

'Gloín did not wake me for my watch tonight.'

'That was my fault,' she responded, rather unapologetically, without looking up from what she was doing – which, as far as Thorin could see, consisted of pushing aside fallen leaves in arbitrary places with a gnarly stick.

'Yes, I reached that conclusion.. However, I do not believe I asked you to take the watch.'

This made Ardhoniel look up, her pale eyebrows raised a little as she regarded him. As she spoke, her face was deceitfully expressionless. 'I could not sleep.'

He sighed, running a hand over his tired face. 'It is this damned forest,' he muttered, remembering his own troubled dreams of that night. 'I cannot wait until we leave it behind us.'

The She-Elf did not respond immediately. However, suddenly the corners of her lips lifted and she beamed, rather enthusiastically: 'Ah, I have found it!'

And so they continued once more. The going was slow, every now and then – and increasingly so – having to stop to check that they were still on the Elven path. By the end of the day, it was impossible to tell whether they had covered three miles, or thirty. As the last light beneath the trees started to fade, though, it certainly felt like the latter, and then some, and Ardhoniel was more than glad to tuck into a piece of dried meat and bread. She was done pathfinding for the day.

As she ate, the Elleth was again struck by the utter silence that lay on the forest like a blanket. During the day she had been too busy to notice, but in the dark, the quiet was near suffocating. Unnatural, she could not help but think, and a shiver ran down her spine. In all her years, she had never experienced anything quite like it. Something about the forest was very, very wrong.

'… Miss Elf?'

She looked up at the sound of her unofficial title, and was surprised to find that Thorin, Balin and Dwalin were sitting but a few feet from her – and were staring at her in expectation. 'Pardon me?'

'The path,' Balin supplied helpfully, a friendly smile on his face. 'We were wondering if you could give us an estimate of how far along we are? How many more days until we reach the other edge of the forest.'

'Oh, I…' She only now noticed the three Dwarves were bowed over a map of Middle-Earth. Moving closer, Ardhoniel peered at the scaled representation of Mirkwood in thought.

Truthfully, she had no idea how long the trek should take them – even in the event that she would have led them through the forest without having to stop every fifteen minutes to see which way the path would meander off to next. She knew they were yet to pass the enchanted river Gandalf had warned her about, which should be close to the Halls of the Elvenking Thranduil near the other end of the forest. However, even following her most optimistic calculations, she did not believe they would cross that river before the day after tomorrow.

'Well?' It was Dwalin and even without looking, she knew he was staring at her suspiciously. Throughout the journey, he had been watching her closely; weighing, measuring. She knew he did not trust her – and of any of the Company, was closest to putting the pieces together.

'We should be able to reach the other end of the forest within a week's time,' she spoke at last, her voice even and steady – and betraying none of her own tiredness, worries, and uncertainties.

'A week?!'

Before she could take a deep breath and approach the situation a little more reasonably (and sensibly), in her exhausted state the words passing her lips were heavily influenced by annoyance and it was all she could do not to shout them at the Dwarf: 'Have you looked at this map anytime recently, Master Dwalin? We spent a little under two weeks on the road since we left Rivendell to get to this point – and that includes the distance that we spent riding on the back of giant Eagles! You can grumble and you can complain to me all you want. However, I can assure you that will not make our way any shorter.'

She dropped her spoon in the now empty bowl and turned abruptly. Passing Bombur, she handed it to him and thanked him in a polite, but clipped voice for the meal. Then, she seated herself between Bifur and Bofur with a deep sigh. Pulling up her long legs, she rested her head on her knees heavily. Ardhoniel was just about to rest her tired eyes when Bifur sprouted off something decidedly unhappy sounding in Khuzdul.

'Says it's too quiet here. Misses the sounds of the birds in the trees, of the hazes and foxes in the undergrowth, he says,' Bofur explained, even before she had a chance to ask.

'I agree full heartedly with you, Master Bifur,' she mumbled and closed her eyes for a moment. 'Believe me when I say I want to leave this forest behind me just as much as any of you do.'

It was silent for a moment and she wondered if Bifur had even comprehended her response in the Common Tongue. It took one glance to the left to confirm that he had at least grasped the gist of it, for he bowed his head to her in what could have only been understanding.

As Thorin handed his own stew bowl back to Bombur, he could not keep his eyes from drifting to the She-Elf that had sat herself by the other two Ur family members. After her outburst, he wasn't sure whether to scold her for her disrespect towards Dwalin, or apologize to her for the behaviour of the Dwarf in question – and ended up doing neither. After all, the Elven lady was not the only one exhausted from their long day walking through the forest. So instead, Thorin settled against a moss-covered rock just left of the path and laid out his Elven sword across his lap. He was about to take out a whetstone when something his nephew said caught his attention.

'So… did anyone else have _strange_ dreams last night?'

Thorin's mind flashed back to his own dreams for a second time that day. However, this time there was little to distract him from the disturbing images. He had dreamt of Frerin that night, like he had on many nights before. However, that night he had not relived the Battle of Azanulbizar like he did on most nights that his mind brought him back to the horrors of his past, that night he had not watched his brother, barely on the cusp of adulthood, die a painful death. Yet, in a sense last night's dream had even been worse – and had left him shaken long after he woke up.

In his dream, Thorin had found himself out in Mirkwood by twilight. Only, the forest looked nothing like he remembered. Here, the leaves on the trees had been green, the barks brown and healthy, and he could hear the sounds of little animals passing in the undergrowth. He had been alone, wearing only his boots, breeches and tunic, and only for a moment did he wonder about the fate of his companions. Something told him to walk the path that lay before him and so Thorin had followed the moss-covered yellow bricks that dotted the forest floor.

He had not known for how long he travelled the path, but suddenly night had fallen in the forest and he'd found that, with nightfall, the world around him had changed. Where there had been life, now there were only greyed, sickened and dead trees that reached up to the skies with skeletal limbs. All had gone quiet in the forest and he had shivered as a small breeze passed beneath the trees. Over his shoulder, Thorin could still catch sight of the forest as it had been, and he had taken a step towards it.

A creaking sound had caused him to look down, to find that the forest floor was now covered in dead leaves, twigs and what appeared to be the bones of small animals. At the same time, a painfully familiar voice had called to him.

'You cannot turn back, _nadad_.'

Thorin's head had whipped up, to find Frerin standing at the edge of the treeline to his right. The younger Durin had been dressed in an outfit that mirrored his own, with a simple tunic and breeches, but somehow the colours were off. The clothing had looked flat and pale, as if washed one too many times. What was more, the younger Durin himself looked different from the last time Thorin had seen him.

The Frerin in front of him was no longer a young Dwarfling, with a youthful face and only the beginnings of a beard. Instead, his brother had seemed as if he'd finally grown into his full breadth. He'd had broad shoulders, thick arms, and a full beard. What's more, there had been lines in his face, around his mouth, in the corners of his eyes, that Thorin was certain had not been there before, and his brother's blonde hair had now been streaked with the same grey that he knew graced his own dark mane. This Frerin… it was not the younger brother that he had lost in the Battle of Azanulbizar.

It was his brother if he had survived.

'Frerin, you… it can't be.'

He had taken a step closer to his younger brother, those familiar blue eyes fixing him with an impenetrable look.

'You cannot turn back,' Frerin had repeated, and Thorin was suddenly reminded of the green forest that lay behind him. 'You have chosen your path and now you must see it through.'

Thorin had frowned in confusion. 'We will only follow the Elven path until we reach the other end of the forest, Frerin. After that…'

'Your path will lead you to the mountain but not to kingship. You will perish, Thorin Oakenshield, you and all of your kin.' As those last words left Frerin's lips, and Thorin felt his grip on the dream slip away, he had seen his brother's eyes glint red like fire in the night. Like the eyes of a dragon.

'… of a great feast in the middle of the forest.'

'So what was your dream about, laddie?' Balin's kind voice called Thorin back to reality.

'I eh… don't remember. Just that it was something strange.' As he said this, Kíli's ears turned red and the young Dwarfling – that suddenly reminded Thorin all too much of his own younger brother – look down embarrassedly. The subject was soon dropped after this.

* * *

 **Author's Note: So, what do you think about Thorin's dream? Do you think there's any meaning to it - or do you think it's just the forest's influence on his mind? Also, what do you think Kíli dreamt about? Let me know your thoughts in a review! (;**


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Hi everyone! Welcome back to another chapter! Now to _Guest45_ , I think this chapter will be answering a lot of questions raised by you in your review of last week's chapter! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter fourteen: Shadow's call**

For a second night in a row, Ardhoniel could not sleep. Despite her exhaustion, despite the Dwarves' snores functioning as a relaxing background sound, the night held no rest for the Elleth.

For a time, she lay listening to the sounds around her. To the cacophony of snores, to Bilbo's – in comparison – quiet intakes of breath from right to her left, and to the sound of a whetstone being drawn over the metal of a blade. Considering the time he had already spent sharpening the blade, Ardhoniel guessed that it was more of a pastime to keep the Dwarven King's mind busy, than that the act really served a specific purpose of itself.

Then, some time later during the night, the whispers had started. She had sat up in alarm, long fingers curled around her dagger, grey eyes searching the darkness blindly. When nothing happened – and her shock had died down enough to allow rational thought – her mind seemed to process the sounds, and Ardhoniel came to a chilling realisation.

She had heard it before. Back at Beorn's home, when the Skin Changer and Mithrandir had been discussing the path that lay ahead, she had gotten a first taste of the foreign words, accompanied by a sensation of pure evil, too low for her to make out. Like then, she quickly realised that she was the only one privy to them.

The Elleth wondered what the words meant. More so, she wondered why she was hearing them, why now, and if there was more to it than just the forest's influence on her tired mind.

For a moment longer she listened to the evil whisperings, before at last she pushed herself up from her bedroll with a deep sigh. Somewhere across the camp, the whetstone ceased its motions. Being careful to sidestep any sleeping Dwarves, Ardhoniel made her way to the other side with relative ease. Although her sharp eyesight was virtually useless in the pitch dark, she had a keen sense of hearing as well as a good memory to make up for it. At last, she sat herself next to where Thorin now sat in silence.

At first, neither of them spoke, both too engrossed in their own thoughts and the effects of the forest's magic to offer much in terms of conversation. Then, Ardhoniel sighed. 'I believe I should apologise for my behaviour earlier today; it was uncalled for.' She raked a hand through her dishevelled hair, 'I suppose I am just…'

'Tired?'

The Elleth hummed in response. 'It is as if this forest drains the energy from me; every step I take feels like a hundred.'

'And yet are you not sleeping?'

'I wish I could… However, I fear I shall find no rest beneath these trees. That being as it may, if you wish to get some sleep I can take over the remainder of the watch?'

Thorin did not respond immediately. When he did, his voice sounded weary and grave, 'My dreams have been… troubled as of late.'

She was silent for a moment, her mind flashing back to earlier that day, and then at last she inquired, very carefully, 'Do they happen to have anything to do with your kin?' Ardhoniel felt more than heard his cessation in breathing, and quickly continued, 'I apologise if it is not my place; I just could not help but notice the way you were staring at Kíli after dinner.' Silence filled the dark forest and the Elleth closed her eyes in regret. 'I am sorry, I…-'

'I dreamt of my brother.' And so, Thorin ended up telling her about the Battle of Azanulbizar, the death of his brother Frerin, and the strange dream he had had the previous night.

* * *

The next two days were spent in quite the same fashion. The Company woke early in the mornings, had a quick and predominantly quiet breakfast, and would then continue on the road.

The second morning Bilbo was awoken gently by Ardhoniel. Despite her tired eyes, the growing shadows beneath them, and the increasing tightness around her mouth, the She-Elf was a sight for sore eyes – and Bilbo had never been so happy to be awoken at the crack of dawn in his life.

Soon they set out again, and by the time the Company stopped for lunch they had covered quite a lot of ground – or so the Hobbit believed; it was difficult to tell when all trees looked the same. Whatever the case, Bilbo did not mind the walking (and much preferred it over riding the ponies, thank you very much), and the activity had kept his thoughts from dwelling on his dreams.

Bilbo had had nightmares before, of course, and like any other Hobbit did not particularly enjoy them. That being said, last night's dream had been very different than any nightmares he had had before.

For one, in this dream he had found himself back in the cave under Goblin Town, caught in a game of riddles with the creature Gollum.

'Time,' Bilbo had heard himself say, quite like had that day.

This time however, Gollum did not protest. Instead, he had offered the Hobbit an eerie grin, his eyes flashing like lights in the darkness. 'One more.' The creature had hissed, then disappeared into the shadows.

'Master of all between the earth and sky;  
All that will be, all that is, all that's been;  
Rule all life and those to die;  
Pass unknown, walk unseen;  
Only visible to the Eye.'

The last line had been purred directly into his right ear and Bilbo had jumped. He had taken a step back from the creature, thoughts and heart racing as he repeated the riddle in his head, 'Unseen, but visible… visible to the eye.' As he'd thought, Bilbo's left hand disappeared in his vest pocket to play with the ring he had found.

Long fingers had wrapped around his shoulder and when Gollum had spoken, the creature's voice was low and dangerous, 'What has it got in its pocketses?'

Bilbo did not know what the dream meant – if it meant anything at all. It was a dream after all! As the Hobbit tried to dispel the after effects of the nightmare, around him the Dwarves and Elf had started to gather their things and soon, they were on the road again.

The morning had been quiet and there had been little talk – especially to her – and so Ardhoniel was surprised when about half an hour after lunch Kíli joined her at the head of the group. More surprising was when she noticed his older brother was not beside him.

'So, you appear to be rather good at his whole guiding thing,' he remarked nonchalantly, while gesturing vaguely at the yellow stones on the ground. When she remained silent, he scratched the back of his head uncomfortably, then quickly glanced behind him. 'Can I ask you something?'

This caught the Elleth's attention and she turned to look at him. It only now occurred to her how odd the young Dwarf was acting and that he appeared somewhat… uncomfortable? 'Are you all right, Kíli?'

At the question, Kíli's ears turned slightly red and he hastened to say, 'Yes, yes, I am fine! I was just… You see, I was just wondering something… about Elves!'

'About Elves?' Ardhoniel raised an eyebrow.

'Yes, well… You are blond and the Elves in Rivendell were dark-haired. I was wondering if it's also possible for Elves to have other shades of hair – say, red?'

The Elleth did not respond immediately, frowning at the oddity of his question. Then at last she sighed deeply, gathering her thoughts. 'Yes, Elves can have different shades of hair other than blond or brown. And, to answer more specifically, that shade may be red, although it is highly unusual.'

'How so?'

'Well, from what I can recall, it is a trait mainly ascribed to Nerdanel's kin. She was an Elven lady who lived in Valinor during the Years of the Trees. She married Fëanor, the first child of Finwë, High King of the Ñoldor, who would later go on to make the Silmarils. Nerdanel bore seven sons, three of which inherited her red hair. Apart from Nerdanel's kin, I know of no Elves with red hair.'

'But then it is possible?'

'Yes, I suppose it is.' She studied his face more closely, noticing it had almost a hopeful quantity to it. 'Why do you ask, Kíli?'

The hopeful expression made room for discomfort. 'I have been having dreams.' He let that last word hang in the air, looking at her meaningfully, as if that would explain everything.

Ardhoniel frowned a little in confusion. 'It appears all our sleeps are disturbed in this forest. Try not to let it get to your head, whatever the nightmare was about.'

'No, no you see,' Kíli looked behind him again, 'Mine weren't nightmares.' He blushed a little. 'There was a red-haired lady in my dreams. She took me by the hand, guiding me along, and warned me of the dangers that lay ahead... I think she was an Elf.'

'You think?'

'Well, I could not make out her face. However, her voice was sweet and clear like rain, and something just tells me she was very beautiful!'

Ardhoniel knew that she should not let him hold on to the dream, knowing that it was probably the forest's influence playing on the young Dwarf's weaknesses. Yet, gazing to the side, the sight that met her eyes caused those harsh words to get stuck in her throat. The hopefulness in his eyes, even though perhaps misplaced, was something that lifted her own heavy heart a little, and she smiled softly. 'It sounds like a wonderful dream, indeed.'

* * *

 **Author's Note: So... as you've all probably guessed, the riddle in this chapter was written by yours truly - and as you could probably also guess, riddles aren't really my strongest suit. Anyway, would love to hear your thoughts on the riddle, Bilbo's dream and of course Kíli's dreams!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter fifteen: And I must follow, if I can**

It wasn't long after Thorin had curiously watched his youngest sisters-son move to the front of the Company, that they stopped once again. His head felt heavy and there was a pounding behind his eyes that begged him to take a short rest; however, a nagging feeling caused him to look for Kíli. He intended to speak with the young Dwarf about his talk with the She-Elf, but was momentarily detained by Dwalin's voice.

'…stopping again? We've barely been on the road for an hour.' Despite the seasoned warrior keeping a quiet tone, his deep, strong voice carried and Thorin had no doubt that Ardhoniel could hear it perfectly clear from where she was pushing away leaves a few feet ahead.

Glóin hummed in agreement, 'How do we know she's not leading us straight to the Elvenking's doorstep?'

Thorin halted for a moment. Although he did not believe the She-Elf would hand them over to Thranduil, he could not help his own eyes traveling to her with knit eyebrows. Ever since Dwalin's words at the edge of the forest, he could not help but be more tuned to her and her behaviour – and he had taken to watching her when no one else was looking. Although she did not show any signs of ill will towards the Dwarves – even when they treated her less than kindly – Thorin could not deny that something seemed… _off_ about her.

From the frequent stops it was obvious that she had difficulty finding the path and, at the very least, could not be too familiar with it. In fact, he did not believe her to be very knowledgeable of the world at all, for although she sometimes spoke of the history of the world, she only very rarely spoke of its present state. She did, however, show a certain fondness and excitement for Middle-Earth, an almost childlike wonder for learning new things that he also saw in his nephews.

Then, he had noticed that she did not often speak of her childhood or her home, but when she did, she would often hesitate, as if filtering the story. They knew her mother had died and that she had at least two elder brothers and a sister, but did not know their professions, status, or even names. Somehow, she had managed to tell them quite a bit about herself, but still vague enough to really not say anything at all – and it infuriated Thorin that he had only now found out. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that his lifelong friend had been right. There was something she was hiding from them.

It was at this point that the She-Elf's head shot up from what she had been doing, gazing off into the forest with a shocked expression, as if she had heard something.

For a moment, Ardhoniel forgot to breathe entirely. Shaking her head, she took a step closer to where the voice had sounded from. She could have sworn… She was certain it had sounded like…

But it couldn't be. It couldn't be, she told herself, but the haze in her mind would not lift and for the first time that day, the evil whisperings had quieted down. She stared intently at the trees, convinced that somehow her mother would appear if she but looked close enough. Her voice had sounded so clear, so familiar in the silent forest, that it did not even come to her mind that it might have been another trick of the forest.

'Ardhoniel? Ardhoniel?'

Tearing her eyes from the treeline with great difficulty, she looked down to find Bilbo standing beside her. The little Hobbit lightly touched her forearm, brown eyes swimming with concern. Before he could ask if she was all right, a booming voice interrupted the moment.

'Did you find the path again, Elf?'

The Elleth turned completely now, facing the Dwarves that were staring at her with expressions ranging from impatience to downright suspicion – the last most notably found on the face of Dwalin, who had addressed her. For once, however, she did not care about their distrust. For as the fog lifted from her mind, realization dawned on her. She had no idea how it had happened; one minute she had been following the path just fine, the next it had been gone. Or so she thought. Truthfully, she'd had a hard time concentrating that afternoon and her mind had been hazy even before she had heard her mother's voice. Dropping her gaze to the forest floor, Ardhoniel voiced the one thing she had feared most, 'It's gone. The path is gone.'

A moment of silence followed her confession, then the Dwarves erupted in a cacophony of noise. The sound, coupled with the whisperings in her head, and the growing headache, quickly grew too much for the exhausted Elleth and she dropped herself on top of a fallen tree gracelessly. She rubbed her temples warily, forcing the Dwarves to the background, but it appeared that the whispers only grew louder in response.

 _"Ash nazg durbatulûk."_

She raised her head in response to the words, for the first time being able to make out any of the whispers, just in time to find Bilbo placing himself firmly by her side. 'Stop it! Stop it, all of you!'

To both his and the Elleth's surprise, the Dwarves ceased their complaints for a moment, and would he not have felt so angry, Bilbo might have faltered under the combined weight of their gazes. Instead, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared back as best as he could, 'Your complaints are not bringing us back any closer to the path!'

'He's right,' Thorin realized, then his face hardened and he spared the Elf a resentful look before he turned to his kin. 'Spread out, find the path!'

* * *

Of course, they did not find the path again. It was as Gandalf had warned: once they'd stray from the Elven road, there was no telling what would happen. The Company was now at the mercy of the forest – and they did not like it one bit.

In the end, it was decided that they would head to the right, for the forest seemed least dense there, and the Elleth followed them quietly at the back of the group with a heavy head and heart.

This time, it wasn't just the evil whisperings and the magical fog that kept her isolated. It was clear from the way the Dwarves would look over their shoulder at her, some with a form of disappointment, others with varying degrees of resentment. Worst, however, was Thorin, who had immediately taken over leading the Company once they'd started off again – and had not once looked back at her since.

The Dwarves of Erebor did not have nothing to talk about it – they had nothing to talk about to her.

Later that day, when they stopped for the night, Thorin ordered a fire to be started and Gloín and Oín made quick work of collecting fallen sticks and dead twigs. Ardhoniel looked on with a growing feeling of hopelessness, but said nothing. She waited patiently for dinner to be prepared, and retrieved her bowl with a down-tilted head. Given what happened that afternoon, she was extremely surprised when Bilbo sat himself next to her.

He looked her over concernedly, and noted that she was not eating her dinner. 'Are you all right?'

'I am, Bilbo, worry not. I am just…' Tired? Hearing never-ending whispers and the voice of her deceased mother? Ridden with guilt from lying to them? She sighed. Everything that she had worked for, everything that she had built up with them; it was ruined now. And it was her own fault. If only she had been honest from the start, none of this would have happened. Ardhoniel looked up into the warm and kind, awaiting eyes of the Hobbit.

She would tell him, she decided. If anyone would understand, it would be dear Bilbo. 'Bilbo, I must be honest with you – if only with you. There is something I wanted… that I _should_ have told you a long time ago.' She halted, once again peaking up at his face, to see it now drawn in an expression of confusion in the light of the fire. No contempt. Not yet. 'I am not…-'

'Elf!'

Her head shot up, and Ardhoniel almost dropped her bowl at hearing his harsh voice. Somehow, though, that was not as painful as hearing Thorin once again refer to her by her race. 'What is it, my lord?'

The Dwarven King did not respond. Instead, he jerked his head to the left and away from the camp. Then, without waiting for her answer, he started off in that direction.

Quickly, Ardhoniel put down her bowl, giving Bilbo what she hoped was an apologetic look, 'I'll be right back..' Then, she hastened after Thorin.

The Dwarf stopped about fifteen feet away, still in line of the camp but out of earshot. There, he rounded on her. 'You may think us fools, but I am neither blind, nor stupid! I know there is something about you that is not right. What happened today?'

'Well...'

'Speak.'

'I lost the path.'

His eyes blazed with a fire that equaled dragon fire at that point, making the tall Elleth suddenly feel very small. 'Did not Gandalf appoint you for the very task of _following_ the path? Did he not say that you would guide us over the Elven road? What happened to that?'

Ardhoniel considered her answer. She had little desire to make the Dwarf even angrier than he already was at this point. Yet, she felt that was exactly what she would do if she told him the truth; namely that the Wizard must have suffered a temporary loss of mental function when he told the Dwarves that she would be the one to lead them through Mirkwood. Similarly, it would probably not go about well if she told him about the call of her dead mother that had distracted her. 'I do not know; one minute I was following the path and the next it was gone.'

Thorin looked ready to respond – and in not too friendly a way, too – but then he was called back by Dori. He threw her one last, heated glance and then stormed back to the camp.

As the Elleth slowly traced his footsteps, she caught a wisp of their conversation, causing her to look up to see what had alarmed Dori so much. There, in the canopy above them, the dark was dotted with countless little lights – eyes, she shivered. They were being watched. Yet as the creatures made no attempt to come closer, Ardhoniel tried to shrug it off and went to her rucksack.

Laying out her bedroll next to Bilbo's – who she noted, was already fast asleep – she made herself comfortable on the forest floor, but she could not help thinking of all that had happened that day. Her mother's voice, the loss of the path, the distrust and open hostility of the Dwarves, it had been a very taxing day and would no doubt be tomorrow. When at last Ardhoniel fell asleep, it was restless and troubled – and between all that had happened that day, the Black Speech had all but faded from her memory.

~ Ash nazg durbatulûk = One ring to rule them all


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: Hello and welcome to chapter 16 already! I want to thank everyone who still keeps up with this story, and thank _Guest45_ in particular for their wonderful review. **

**In response to some concerns you raised in your review:**

 **I am afraid anything that is happening now in the forest has nothing to do with Ardhoniel being gifted. Part of it is just the forest, but I also like to think that it's due to her being Elfkind. They are described as being more in tune with the world and I like to think that makes them more sensitive to both the good and the bad, hence her reaction (amplified by the forest's magic) to the ring. But of course the specific things she sees (for instance her mother) are things that play onto her own weaknesses.**

 **You also mentioned that we still don't know a lot (quite like the Dwarves, haha!) about Ardhoniel's background and past. This is true** – **and I promise that more will be revealed in the next few chapters!**

 ** **Lastly, I am sure all the Sharons in the world will forgive you for your typo! (:****

 ** ** ** **Enjoy the chapter!********

* * *

 ** ** ** ** ** **Chapter sixteen: The Enchanted River************

The next day, the Company set off later than usual. The faint morning light had failed to wake them – and so had Nori, who was supposed to take the last watch. No one complained, however, or said anything else for that matter. For despite the amount of sleep they had gotten, all felt twice as tired as the night before. They had only a small meal of old bread and cheese, followed by a sip of water – for their supplies were dwindling faster than they had hoped – before they were back on the road.

And so the walk was a quiet one for the most part. Thorin and Dwalin took the lead, closely followed by Balin, but even the fierce leaders were not their usual self. Indeed, the Company's expressions were distant, their minds distracted. Some thought of home, others of food, of long lost family… and some of red-haired Elven maidens.

Whatever their thoughts were on, they were hardly on the road, and so it was met with quite some surprise when Bilbo suddenly called out, 'Water, I hear water!'

And indeed, as the others strained their ears, they heard it too. The faint, trickling and rushing sound of flowing water. A second passed in which the Company members all looked at each other in wonder, the next they all but sprinted towards the sound. Before they had a chance to attribute the rushing sound to perhaps another trick of the forest, our thirteen Dwarves, Hobbit, and Elf burst through the bushes – and came to a sudden stop.

They found themselves by the side of not a stream, but an actual forest river! Although it was not broad, it rushed by fast, the black water tracking along dead leaves, twigs and any other natural waste. The Dwarves all rushed to get their water skins out, for it was the first water source they had seen ever since entering the forest, and their supply was running low. In the meanwhile, something tried to pierce the thick fog in Ardhoniel's mind.

Despite losing the path, they had made it to the river which the Elleth knew should be on their path. Although they may not have encountered it at the intended crossing, finding it meant that they could not have strayed too far off route. Yet, something deterred her from feeling the same joy as the others. There was something about the river, a thought just out of reach. Rushing by her like the black water, too quick for her to catch onto. It was something Mithrandir had said, just before he had sent her off to lead the Company through the darkness of Mirkwood. He had spoken to her, warned her…

She watched as the first Dwarf made his way to the forest river. Bombur. His water skin in hand, impressive girth making him wobble, he bent down to the water. The water!

'Stop it! Don't touch the water!' Her voice rang through the suddenly quiet forest, and to her dismay the Dwarves turned to her with suspicion clear on their faces.

Suddenly, it was as if the fog lifted from her mind, and she took in her surroundings for the first time. When had the trees gone from slowly decaying to being rotten? The forest floor started to be littered with the carcasses of forest animals? Her discomfort grew when she noticed the white, silky webs that covered most of the tree barks from about two feet from the forest floor.

'And why should we not?' It was Thorin, his voice low and challenging.

'The water is enchanted.'

'Enchanted?!' Bombur shouted, pulling back from the water with a start. And indeed, so rashly that he lost his footing and, with a great wail, fell into the dark water. As soon as he hit the water, the large Dwarf suddenly went very still.

'Get him out of the water!' The Dwarven King ordered, before the fallen Dwarf could be carried away by the stream. 'Be careful not to touch the water.'

It was Fíli, who with surprisingly quick thinking took of his cloak and, wrapping his hand in it, grabbed hold of the front of Bombur's tunic. They were lucky too, that the rotund Dwarf kept afloat, or there would have been no choice but to jump in after him. In the end, Fíli, together with Kíli, Bofur, Bifur and Dwalin, finally managed to pull him onto the river bank.

'Is he dead?' Bofur questioned, his voice as solemn as they'd ever heard it.

Just at that moment, his brother let out a loud snore – and the Company looked on in surprise.

'He's sleeping?' called out Dwalin, exasperated that he had gone through all this trouble just for the heavy Dwarf to have fallen asleep.

'It must be the water,' Balin spoke, eying the black river thoughtfully.

Thorin huffed, putting one hand through his hair in annoyance, 'Of course it had to be enchanted. Now we can't touch the water, and the river is too broad to jump; how do we get to the other side?'

As silence stretched on, Ardhoniel became acutely aware of his heavy gaze on her person – and realized he must have directed the question at her. 'Oh, I…' She regarded the river, establishing for herself what the Dwarven King had already said. Even for her, it was too broad to scale in one jump. And even if she could do it, that would still leave thirteen Dwarves and a Hobbit on the other river bank. For a moment, the Elleth entertained the ridiculous idea of using poor, sleeping Bombur as a raft to cross the water, then quickly shook that from her mind. If only they had followed the path, they might have come across a proper water crossing – a bridge, or perhaps a ferry? Then an idea struck her. 'I might have an idea.'

Taking the bow from her back and one of the arrows from the quiver Beorn had gifted her, she noticed Gloín – who of the Dwarves stood closest to her – take a step back. 'I need rope.'

Soon, the required object was pressed into her hands – by whom, she did not know – and she tied one end securely around the arrow, handing the other end to Thorin, who conveniently stood next to her. Aiming across the river, Ardhoniel narrowed her eyes as she took in her target. ' _Súlimo, togo bilinn nín_ ,' she whispered, just as she released the arrow and watched it sail across the river. With a soft _thud_ , it embedded itself in a tree on the other bank. Then, taking the loose end from Thorin's hands, she tied it to a nearby tree. 'And now we climb.'

* * *

And so they crossed the Enchanted River – the Elleth and Hobbit quite smoothly, the Dwarves… a little less so. To be fair, Thorin, Balin, Kíli and Fíli climbed across without much fuss. The same could not be said about all of the Dwarves however, and Dori in particular had to practically be forced along the rope. Last came Bofur, who had remained with his sleeping sibling and had tried thinking of a solution of getting him across the water. In the end, even he could not deny that there was no other way than dragging Bombur below him through the water as he himself clambered to the other bank. Of course, he only reached this conclusion after a hefty amount of apologies to the unconscious Dwarf, and having carefully checked the current of the river.

When all Company members had reached the other side, the rope was cut and they continued on much the same way that they had done before encountering the river – with the exception that now they were taking turns carrying Bombur across the forest.

As the day dragged on, their feet became heavy, their backs ached from carrying the rotund Dwarf, and their heads were once again clouded by the befuddling magic of the forest. And so when they encountered another steep rise on their way, Thorin grunted and, together with Dwalin, non-too-gently sat down the sleeping dwarf on the forest floor. 'We stop for the night.'

Despite it not nearly being dusk, nobody complained at the respite and they all quickly set out their things. Between their lack of supplies and their sleeping cook – who still showed no signs of waking – they had to make due with a small piece of stale bread and an even smaller sip of water. Noticing the setting darkness, Thorin then ordered his youngest nephew, along with the Company's She-Elf, to collect wood for a fire.

The two of them set out in silence, collecting twigs and sticks just outside the parameter of the camp. Although there was still ample light to guide their movements and their way, ever since they had entered the forest it had become an unspoken rule to not stray too far from the camp – lest they did not find it back.

' _Ardhoniel_.'

The Elleth looked up, nearly dropping her collected wood as she searched for the source of the voice. She scanned her surroundings, but did not find anyone except Kíli who was gazing at her with an unfamiliar expression on his face. The Elleth sighed and was about to continue her work when she heard it again.

' _Av-'osto, henig_.'

Ardhoniel took a step closer the voice, her brows furrowed. ' _Nana_? _Manen…_ '

' _Tolo ar nin_.' A flash of golden hair was visible between the trees a little ways further.

When her mother spoke no more, Ardhoniel put down her pile of wood and stepped over it carefully, all the while keeping her eyes firmly locked on the trees where her mother had been. She had all but taken two steps when a broad hand wrapped itself around her shoulder and pulled her back. When she turned around, that same hand guided her down and, in quite the same motion, two soft lips, above a stubbly chin, closed around hers.

In the second that it took the Elleth to realize what was happening, her head cleared and another realization set in. Her mother was not – _could not_ be in the forest. Her mother was dead. And the kiss, unwanted as it was, might have just saved her from an even more unwanted fate.

Lifting her hands between them, she pushed Kíli away from her. Then, she quickly wiped her lips with the back of her arm, before fixing the young Dwarf with a glare. It seemed that this was hardly necessary, however, for when she met his brown eyes, she noticed they were widened – and contained a look of horror. 'A… Ar… Ardhoniel?'

Taking in his flaming cheeks, the Elleth sighed, thinking that the forest must have pulled a similar trick on him as it had on her. Taking some pity on the young Dwarf – and on herself – she picked up her stack of firewood from where it lay, all but forgotten, and made her way back to camp. 'None of this ever happened.'

Kíli could not agree more on that course of action, and quickly hurried after her with his own pile of wood. When they returned at the camp site, however, the young Dwarf could not help but be reminded of a time, seemingly ages ago, when they had arrived back at camp in a similar state.

Only this time something _had_ actually happened – only not the way Thorin had feared.

~ Súlimo, togo bilinn nín = Lord of the Wind (Manwë), guide my arrow  
~ Av-'osto, henig = Do not be afraid, my child  
~ Nana? Manen… = Mum? How…  
~ Tolo ar nin = Come with me

* * *

 **Author's Note: Oh no, poor Kíli, what were you doing, going around kissing unsuspecting Elven ladies? (; Let me know what you all thought of this chapter!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: Hi all! I hope you all enjoyed your weekend. I sure did (and as a result, am glaringly behind on all my work, haha!). I want to once again thank _Guest45_ , you've been absolutely amazing throughout the entire process! Before we go, I just want to say sorry. Please don't hate me and don't give up before the next chapter! I promise (it feels like I've been saying this every week) everything will be explained in the next two chapters or so! Now, enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter seventeen: Of webs and wood Elves**

'I don't remember this place,' Balin mused out loud, though his voice was lacking in its usual sharpness. When he looked around himself, too, he seemed dazed and confused. As did the rest of the Company, for that matter.

They had been wandering the wood for the better part of the day, much like the past few days – they could hardly remember how many days they'd already spent in the accursed forest – and it was starting to take a toll on them. Not just the physical exhaustion, for even with carrying the still sleeping Bombur, most of them were accustomed to far greater exercise, but especially the mental strain. None of them had slept well ever since entering the forest and their dreams had been plagued by strange scenes and sounds, and with every step they took, it was as if their brains became more muddled, to the point that they could hardly remember what they were in Mirkwood for, in the first place.

'Look, here!' Ori called out.

As the Company stopped and searched for the cause of the commotion, they spotted the small, brown leather tobacco pouch in the young Dwarf's right hand.

Dori, who stood closest to him, took it from his brother and examined it with interest. The carvings on the worn leather were familiar, as was the making, and he smiled in disbelief. 'There are Dwarves in these woods!'

'Aye, and from the Blue Mountains, no less,' Bofur added, looking at the pouch from over Dori's shoulder. 'I can't believe it, it is exactly like mine.'

It was at this moment that Bilbo stomped his way to them, and exclaimed exasperatedly – and quite uncharacteristically, might I add, 'That is because it _is_ yours! Do you not understand, we have been walking in circles all day; we have passed this place at least twice!'

By the end of his little speech, the Dwarves were hardly listening anymore, bickering about all the time and effort spent walking through the forest – and for naught! What was more, they had no way of knowing whether they were even still going in the right direction.

Bilbo came to this conclusion as well – and might have far sooner, without the distraction of the bickering Dwarves. 'The sun,' he mused, then, looking up, he could see a bit of sunlight peeking through the thick tree canopy far above him. 'We must find the sun.'

As Bilbo clambered up one of the tall trees, Thorin stood a bit to the side, straining his ears to hear over the sound of his kinsmen's fighting. He was sure he had heard something in the forest… a _clicking_? Or perhaps it was a feeling, more than an actual sound. Whatever it was, there was something in the forest; watching them like it had for many nights. However, it appeared that it was now finally done waiting.

There the sound was again, and Thorin's head shot up as he searched for the source. As he looked around, he noticed that the She-Elf's head had turned, too. Just as he was about to ask her what it was, something moved in the distance.

He and the Elf both stared, too shocked to even attempt to move, as a horde of spiders, bigger than any they had ever seen, moved through the trees at a rapid speed. Towards them. They were accompanied by loud clicking and hissing, and their eyes glowed eerily among the trees. Giant spiders. They had been watched for nights by giant spiders.

' _Du bekâr_!' he managed to call out, just as the spiders broke into the clearing.

Bombur was dropped unceremoniously on the forest floor as the Company grabbed for their weapons, each Dwarf's eyes growing wide just as they realized what they were up against. They fought the giant creatures of valiantly, however, and even managed to injure and scare some of them off, when a new wave of spiders broke into the clearing.

From the corner of her eye, Ardhoniel saw both Ori and Nori be stabbed by the creatures, but she could do nothing but watch helplessly as they were each wrapped in a silky cocoon. Not dead, but ready to be a fresh meal whenever the creatures would grow hungry.

In the moment that she had been distracted, a spider had sneaked up on her and was about to stab the Elleth with its large stinger, when the creature suddenly crumpled to the ground – an Elvish sword embedded in its skull. Looking up, she briefly met the eye of Thorin, and nodded in gratitude.

However, timely as his intervention had been, he could not save her when two spiders descended on her, and she, too, was paralyzed and wrapped in a cocoon.

Time seemed to slow in her silky prison. Around her, Ardhoniel could hear the sound of battle dragging on, but decreasing ever so softly. Then, there was silence. She could feel that she was being moved, but to where and for what purpose, she did not know. For the time, all she could do was wait. Wait to be saved… or to be eaten.

Ardhoniel did not know how long it was before there appeared to be some kind of scuffle outside the cocoon. Up until then, she had been drowsing, dwelling in and out of consciousness as her mind had nothing to do while her body remained paralyzed. Now however, she felt a surge of adrenaline course through her body as she heard one of the spiders nearby hiss in pain – and it only increased when she noticed movement was returning to her remote limbs. Before she could process this, however, she was airborne. The next second, her cocoon hit the ground hard and with her dagger, the Elleth tore herself through the silky threads.

The air she breathed – although still heavy with magic and sickness – seemed fresher than she remembered air ever being. The joy she felt at her own returned freedom was quickly overwhelmed when Ardhoniel noticed that all around her, Dwarves were awakening from the cocoons too. Just when she thought her elation could not grow any bigger, Bombur sat up from his relatively large cocoon, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he looked around dazedly.

Their peace was cut short when the massive spiders descended to the forest floor as well, aware that their meal was getting away – and being none too happy about it. Within seconds, the Company was submerged in battle again, this one more ferocious and desperate for they knew that if they got caught again, there was no hope left.

Thorin tried to look out for each of his kin, but this was proving harder and harder as the spiders seemed to increase in number every time he hacked one down. Moreover, his own strength was rapidly being depleted and as the initial adrenaline rush wore out, he felt a strain in his arm that weighed down every stab and slash he dealt.

Just as he was beginning to consider that they may have to find another way out of the situation, two arrows sailed across the clearing, embedding themselves cleanly in the skulls of the two spiders he had been fighting. The thanks fell silent on his tongue when he noticed that these were not the sturdy arrows of Kíli – nor were they the simple arrows Beorn had gifted the She-Elf.

His fears were confirmed when the spiders started falling around them like sitting prey, shot down by an invisible foe. Just as the last spider met the ground, the Company was surrounded. To his disgruntlement, one of them, a pointy-eared blonde with a smug look on his face – as if that did not describe all of them! – was right in front of him, a nocked arrow only inches from his face.

'Do not think I would not kill you, Dwarf.'

A sort of shriek-like sound filled the suddenly quiet clearing and both males looked up in surprise to find Ardhoniel, only a few steps away, eyes wide as she stared at the new elf. Meeting her eye, the male Elf – and coincidently, prince of the forest they had been cursing for many days – quirked one of his blonde eyebrows and stepped up to her.

Thorin watched interestedly as the new Elf spoke to the She-Elf in their flowy language. Although he did not understand what was being said, he noted that she looked guarded – and noted with some amount of satisfaction that Ardhoniel was, in fact, taller than this new Elf, and could look down her nose at him.

When at last she answered him, her voice was clipped and evasive, and the male Elf stepped away with a look bordering on annoyance. 'Search them.'

As the guards carried out his order, the male Elf turned and spoke again in Elvish – though this time not to Ardhoniel. Instead, another Elf stepped out from behind the trees. This one notably female – or as notable as Elven gender could ever be to a Dwarf – with a head of hair the colour of autumn leaves. From the corner of his eye, Thorin saw Kíli freeze in his movement, but before he could think more of it, the Elven leader called out another order, and they were led from the clearing.

They walked for many a minute, sometimes taking turns seemingly for the sole purpose of confusing the captives, until at last they arrived at a large bridge behind which lay a tall gate. As they passed over it, Thorin took a moment to look down and noticed with a shiver that the river that lay beneath it appeared only a small blue ribbon from where he stood, before he was pushed forward none-too-gently by one of the Elves.

When they had all filed inside, the heavy gate closed ominously behind them.

They moved forward again through the dimly lit wooden walkways of the Woodland Realm, when Thorin suddenly noticed that the groans and complaints behind him had silenced. Indeed, when he looked behind he noticed that all of his kin had been led away – leaving only the She-Elf to trail silently behind him, held by the arm by the red-headed female guard.

'They have been brought to our dungeon, where you will join them soon, I have no doubt,' the blonde Elf – whom by now he had no doubt was in charge – called from in front of him. Before Thorin could respond, the Elf opened a large set of doors, opening up to a spaceous throne room. In the back, on a raised dais, stood a throne made of carved wood and huge antlers. On it sat what Thorin could only describe as the most pompous, most arrogant Elf he had ever met.

As they were led before Thranduil, Thorin was surprised when the Elven King's cold eyes only shortly lingered on him, before they rested on the She-Elf by his side. When the guards stepped back, Thranduil stepped from the raised dais. He practically glided towards them – stopping in front of Ardhoniel, before he dipped his head deeply.

'Welcome, Ardhoniel _Elrondiel_.'

~ Du bekâr = To arms  
~ Elrondiel = daughter of Elrond

* * *

 **Author's Note: There you have it! Ardhoniel's secret is out - or at least, the first part. Like I said at the start, all will be revealed in the next chapter(s). Don't forget to let me know what you think!**

 **Also, for you geeks who are interested to know, there is one little detail that I want to point out. In the Tolkien verse it is pointed out that Galadriel is very tall. As she is the mother of Celebrían, who is the mother of Ardhoniel, Galadriel is technically her grandmother and so I figured it would be nice to give her one family trait. (Also, it's a bit of a pet peeve of mine when people make their Elven ladies short to decrease the height difference with the Dwarves, so yeah, I deliberately chose not to do that.)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: Hello everyone, I hope you all had a lovely weekend. I hope I did not scare anyone away from this story with last chapter's relevations. I wish to thank _Guest45_ for their review of that chapter; I am very grateful for your long reviews, they really make me happy! This week we'll be meeting Tauriel for real; please note that I tried to flesh her out as an actual character a little bit more (making her more than the "Elven beauty who immediately falls in love with a Dwarf" that we saw in the movies) and so it may (and will) deviate from what we saw in the film. **

**A little note on this chapter: we'll be seeing quite some Elf-on-Elf and Dwarf-on-Dwarf conversations from now on. As I do not have the skill to write out entire conversations in Sindarin or Khuzdul, I will ask you to please imagine that all conversations that are either only between Elves _or_ only between Dwarves are in their respective language, unless stated otherwise! That being said, enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

 ** **Chapter eighteen: The Captain of the Guard****

'I must say I am surprised to see you here, my lady. I hardly recognised you at first, for you were but an Elfling last I saw you; you take a lot after your mother, Celebrían. Tell me, what did Lord Elrond think of his youngest daughter setting out on such a perilous and, dare I say, _questionable_ quest?'

Ardhoniel did not respond and the corner of the Elven King's lips turned up minutely. It was as he had thought then. He allowed the silence to stretch on for another moment, acutely aware of the reaction the Dwarven leader was having to this news. At last, Thranduil cleared his throat, alerting one of the guards that stood nearby.

'Guard, escort the lady Ardhoniel to our finest guest chamber. Nothing but the best for such an honoured guest.'

As one of the guards approved her, Ardhoniel bowed curtly at the Elven King. It was all in mocking of course: her bowing, his politeness. Thranduil had known she had not been forthcoming with information about herself to the Dwarves. She had no doubt that the sole reason for him speaking in the Common Tongue was to enjoy first-hand the effect the revelations were having on Thorin.

Oh Thorin. As she passed, she dared not look at him, out of fear of what she would find in his eyes. She could, however, feel the weight of his gaze on her, and it was enough to keep her own eyes firmly trained on the floor beneath her feet.

'Some may believe a noble quest is at hand,' she heard the Elven King say, just as she was being led from the throne room. Then, as the door fell closed, it was silent. The guard that led her through the winding hallways kept a fast pace, looking over his shoulder only every once in a while to see if she was still following. Ardhoniel might have made a remark about it, but she did not. Her heart felt heavy and her soul was too dispirited for teasing.

The door they stopped in front of was carved from the same dark wood she had seen in most of the kingdom so far, but it was decorated intricately with swirling designs that were painted golden. The guard opened the door for her, then stepped back to allow her entrance.

Thranduil had been truthful when he'd said that they would spare no luxuries in providing for her. There was a small sitting area in the front of the room and behind it, partially covered by a dressing screen, a bed and wardrobe were placed. The walls were light and the floor was made of a glossy chestnut parquet. She spotted another decorated door in the left wall, which the guard informed her let to a private bathing room. A small window allowed natural light to seep into the sleeping area – the first light she had seen in a long while.

From somewhere behind her, she could hear the guard excusing himself, but Ardhoniel hardly paid him any mind. Stepping further into the luxurious room, she wandered past the spotless sitting area, past the screen, and at last sat on the bed with a loud sigh.

Beautiful as it may be, in that moment Ardhoniel would have given anything to be in the cold, dark dungeons with the rest of the Company. However, she had felt the weight of Thorin's gaze and knew that even if she were with them, it would not be the same. Whatever happened from this point onwards to the Dwarves, she had no doubt the journey was over for her. Even if they somehow managed to escape Thranduil's dungeons, there would be no more place for Ardhoniel of Imladris in the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.

Sometime later, a knock on the door roused Ardhoniel from her thoughts, and she stood tiredly to see who it was. When the door opened, she found a red-haired Elleth dressed in green garbs. A sense of familiarity prickled the back of her mind, but she could not yet place the female.

'Lord Thranduil requests your presence at dinner this evening,' the Elleth spoke as she let herself into the room. Then, taking another look at Ardhoniel, she frowned a little. 'I see you have not taken to removing your gear – or bathing.'

At the mention of her gear, the blonde looked down at her grimy person. Perhaps a bath would not be unwelcome, indeed... As she thought about this, she noticed something was missing. 'My bow, where did they take my bow?'

'It is in our armoury,' the new Elf answered calmly, 'I noticed it was of good quality when we unarmed you; I assure you it will be well taken care of.'

Ardhoniel nodded, then started a little as the realization dawned on of where she had seen the red-haired Elleth before. 'You helped kill the spiders.'

'That is correct. My name is Tauriel and I am Captain of the Guard of the Woodland Realm,' the red-haired Elleth bowed her head deeply at this.

'You? I thought…'

'Ah, my lord Legolas,' Tauriel smiled a little grimly at this. 'An understandable mistake. The prince sometimes joins our party.' She did not say more, but it was clear to see that the Elleth had her own thoughts about his joining. Then, she shook her head, as if dispelling the last conversation. 'I will ask the maids to draw a bath for you and bring you fresh clothing. I will return to escort you to dinner.'

* * *

Surprisingly, when Thorin was led to his own cell in the Elven King's dungeons, it was not accompanied by loud curses in Khuzdul. Indeed, there was no sign of his infamous temper to be seen or heard at all, and he entered his cell with his head held high and his mouth firmly closed. Then again, Thorin Oakenshield was a born leader and heir to the throne of Erebor, and all who knew him also knew that he would not give the Elves the pleasure of seeing him upset. Yet, that was not the only reason for his silence. Thorin's mind was heavy with thought – and only part of that was concerned with their Quest.

'What did he want?' Dwalin's familiar, gruff voice sounded from the cell beside him.

'Did he offer you a deal?' Balin inquired from across the hallway.

'Aye,' Thorin said simply, 'And I told him to shove it up his prissy, hairless Elven arse!'

Some of the Dwarves cheered at this, but Balin just sighed. That surely would be the end of any chance they'd had of getting out of the dungeons by the good graces of the Elven King.

As Fíli pondered his Uncle's words, he noticed something else – or rather, the absence of that something. 'Uncle? Where is Ardhoniel?'

It was silent for a moment and, pressing himself against his own bars, Fíli noticed Thorin had turned away from the door of his cell. A minute passed and Fíli considered repeating his question, when at last his Uncle spoke. His voice was low and gravely, the tone void of any emotion. 'The _lady_ Ardhoniel will not be joining us any longer.'

* * *

When Ardhoniel emerged from the bathing room, she felt cleaner than she had in what appeared like forever. She had braided her damp hair over her shoulder and had dressed herself in the forest green dress that the maids had so graciously left for her, along with a white towel and a bar of lavender-scented soap on a stool next to the bath. Although the soft, flowy material felt alien to her skin after wearing a tunic and breeches for so long, it surely was better than putting her own grimy clothes back on, she supposed.

As she entered the sitting area, she noticed that the Elleth from before, Tauriel, was already waiting for her in one of the arm chairs. The Captain stood as she entered. 'Are you ready to go?'

The two left the guest room in silence and for several minutes, traversed the hallways in quite the same manner. Ardhoniel attempted to admire the architecture of the kingdom, but found that it could not interest her as it normally would.

'I trust the room and bath were agreeable?'

'Yes, both were fine, thank you.'

Another silence ensued, neither Elleth knowing quite what to say. For Ardhoniel, it was strange that after all this time on the road with thirteen Dwarves and a Hobbit, she would have difficulty talking to one of her own kind. And yet, it was so, for even with the strongest opponents to her presence she had always at the very least been interested in hearing their perspective on things – which often differed so greatly from her own.

For Tauriel, the lady Ardhoniel was as much an enigma as were the Dwarves in the Elven King's dungeon. She did not understand why the Elleth was here, traveling all this way with a group of Dwarves of all races! And yet, she felt a certain envy that at least she _had_ been out there – even if it was in the company of Dwarves. For one who had only ever travelled as far as the eastern edge of the forest she lived in, the world was a strange and wondrous thing indeed. It was not her place, yet Tauriel could not help but ask, 'Lady Ardhoniel, you have travelled far. Would you tell me, what is it like?'

Ardhoniel looked at her in surprise, then knitted her eyebrows as she pondered the question. 'The world?' She remained silent for another minute, then at last she sighed deeply, 'I am afraid I am the right person to answer that question, Captain.'

'Lady Ardhoniel?'

'Please, just Ardhoniel. I have had no use of the moniker these past few weeks and can't say I missed it at all.'

'They did not know,' Tauriel spoke softly, a statement rather than a question. Ardhoniel recalled the Captain had been at the meeting with Thranduil and so must have connected what her King had been saying, and the reaction of the Dwarven leader to the relevations.

'They did not. But I am sure they do now, thanks to your King.'

'You would do well not to repeat that sentiment now,' Tauriel spoke, stopping in front of large double doors. 'We have arrived at the dining hall; this is where I must leave you.'

'You are not joining me?'

'I have to attend to my duties,' Tauriel stated calmly, although there was a tone of disagreement to her voice. When her gaze drifted to the floor – or rather, what lay below – the meaning of her words registered in Ardhoniel's mind.

As the Captain bowed and turned to walk away, she grabbed her forearm, forcing the red-haired Elleth to face her once more. 'Could you… would you please see if they are all right?'

'You care about them?'

Ardhoniel pretended not to hear the surprise in the other's voice, but could not meet Tauriel's searching eyes when she answered. 'I do… very much.'

Then, giving the Captain no time to respond, she took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy doors – steeling herself for what was to come.

* * *

 **Author's Note on my Tauriel: Personally, I hated that despite Tauriel being the Captain of the Guard, she was not really given that role in the story. That is, Legolas took over most of her duties in my opinion and even in the Battle of the Five Armies, she constantly needed to be saved – as opposed to her being able to hold herself in a battle as you would expect of someone who is, you know, the captain of the guard. That is not to say that she hates Legolas (or even dislikes him as a person) however, but I can imagine her being a little irked at him taking over her job just because he is a prince. **


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note: Welcome back everyone to chapter 19 already, wow! I hope you all had a lovely weekend. Last Friday was my birthday so mine was pretty packed with seeing family and friends and so I had relatively little time to get this chapter out. I hope that you still like it though, it is a bit longer than you are used of me. A big thanks to _Guest_ for their review, you are amazing! Now, on with the story!**

* * *

 **Chapter nineteen: Du bekar**

It was the third morning that Ardhoniel woke in the guest room in the Elven King's realm and although her body was well-rested, her mind was already exhausted by thinking about what the day would bring. So far, her days had been filled with tours around the kingdom with the Prince, the lord Legolas, and somewhat forced, but not entirely unpleasant, visits from Tauriel, the Captain of the Guard. At first she had been surprised about their attentiveness, then she had grown suspicious, and finally she had come to the conclusion that there was, indeed, a motive behind her packed days. Exhaust her during the day, so that Thranduil may attempt to pick her mind apart during the shared dinner.

In the three meals that she had shared with King Thranduil, Ardhoniel had found talking to him to be much like trying to navigate a marsh. She had to watch her step very carefully, for a single moment of inattention may cause her to step into the murky water – from which she may not extract herself anymore.

Diplomatics had never particularly been her strongest suit and many times in her youth, Ardhoniel had very near driven Erestor, her father's Chief Counsellor and private tutor to all of his children when it came to politics and diplomatics, to the ends of his wits when she would again let her sharp tongue have its way. Yet now, it appeared some important lessons had finally sank in – many miles away from her prior tutor and during dinner with an entirely different (and even more embittered) Elf.

Firstly, she had learned that it was often better to remain silent than to lie. Each word that passed her lips was assessed, weighed, and inspected for some hidden meaning by Thranduil. And although she could call the Elven King vain, arrogant, and misguided, he was not a fool. Any slip of the tongue could be fatal, for Thranduil missed nothing.

That being as it was, however, Ardhoniel had found that saying nothing could also mean something, and so she had learned a second thing. If one wants to evade answering a question in polite company, they would only have to ask a counter question. Even the Elven King, who seemed desperate to learn anything about the Dwarven Company in his dungeons, would not act so uncivilized that he would call her out on it. And so that is what she did. She inquired after the design of her guest room, the quality of the food, the origin of the wine, the colour of her dresses, and the fabric of her slippers.

Their games, though taxing as they were to the mind, had gotten her out of the first two meals relatively unscathed. She had been forced to offer some explanation as to why they were in the forest ("we were traveling East"), why she was with the Dwarves ("they were in need of a guide"), and what her purpose was of joining them ("I believe it is no more than healthy to want to step outside one's home every once in a while to connect with the wider world around you, do you not agree, my Lord?"), but she had been able to keep most of the details of the quest a secret – for as much as she knew of them.

For during these dinners, Ardhoniel had increasingly found that she did not know much of the details herself. Whether it was because the Dwarves had not trusted her with that information, or simply because she did not ask, Ardhoniel did not know, but it hurt nonetheless to know she had not been as much part of the Company as she had presumed.

Yet, despite her self-taught lessons, no amount of diplomatic training could have prepared Ardhoniel for the news Thranduil had relayed to her the previous night. The maids had just cleared the main course and were preparing to serve dessert when the Elven King had raised his right hand – and the maids had cleared from the room like mist before the morning sun.

Several minutes had passed in silence and Ardhoniel had increasingly become aware of Thranduil watching her, assessing her like a hawk would its pray. At last, he'd spoken, 'This morning I sent word to lord Elrond of your presence here. I am sure he will be delighted to have his youngest daughter back, alive and well.'

She had not responded, and the words had remained hanging in the air between them. As for Ardhoniel, she knew she should feel anything but this sinking feeling in her stomach at the prospect of returning home. Yet she could not help that it now felt like a verdict – a confirmation that the journey was well and truly over for her. Even if the Dwarves would have able to look beyond her deceit, if they would have accepted her back into the Company, this would be the final destination for Ardhoniel of Imladris.

Knowing her father, he would have already sent out guards to collect her by this morning. Ironically enough, the tears that had been brimming in her eyes had nothing to do with the anger and disappointment that she knew she would have to face when she would arrive back in Imladris, and everything with the Company of Dwarves that was currently locked away in Thranduil's dungeons.

She would never see them again. She would return to the Hidden Valley, continue life as it had always been and would undoubtedly always be, and they would march on to Erebor – to victory, or to their deaths. Or even worse, they may not be released from the Elven King's dungeons, but until they would be aged and broken, and all hopes of ever reclaiming the Lonely Mountain would have become the mere dreams of an old fool.

She had quickly excused herself after this, not wishing for the Elven King to see the extent of the pain he had without a doubt purposefully inflicted. The Prince had stood quietly, and escorted her back to her room. Even when her eyes had overflown and her cheeks stung with the warm tears, he had not said a word. In that moment, Ardhoniel had hated him more than his father.

'Good morning, lady Ardhoniel,' Tauriel said respectfully, and bowed curtly as she was led into the room by the blonde.

'And to you, Captain. Where will you take me today, I wonder?' It was meant as a snide comment, but without its usual bite, came out embittered. Ardhoniel pretended not to have noticed as she tied off her braid.

In response, Tauriel smiled grimly. Both of them knew the real reason behind these "friendly visitations" – and although they, too, knew that it was not the Captain's fault, it made it no less uncomfortable a truth. 'To the training grounds. The guards are having a friendly competition today. It may be amusing for you to watch – and may give me insight into who I should work a little harder.'

This got a small laugh out of Ardhoniel. Then, her thoughts returned to her friends in the dungeon and her mind sobered. 'Do you have any news for me?'

Tauriel sighed deeply. 'They are rude, ungrateful, and severely uncivilized. However, they suffer neither hunger nor thirst, and they each have a decent cot to sleep on – same as the day before yesterday, and the day before that. Although, there is one other thing…'

Her worries lessened, this caught Ardhoniel's attention. Turning from the mirror to face the Captain directly, she noticed the Elleth's cheeks were tainted pink and she looked severely uncomfortable. As Ardhoniel arched one eyebrow, the Captain took to studying her feet. 'What is it, Tauriel?'

'There is... Well, when I went down last night to the dungeons to check upon the Dwarves per your request, they all stared at me with disdain – quite like the day before, actually. However, one of them, he… looked at me differently.'

'How so?'

'I cannot say,' Tauriel shook her head, almost as if trying to dispel an unpleasant thought from her mind. 'But he appears not to share in his kin's ill perception of me. Indeed, if I did not know any better I would say he smiled at me last night as I passed his cell!'

To Ardhoniel, this seemed rather unlikely as well. In all her time with the Company, the Dwarves had never made their dislike and common mistrust of her kin a secret. But perhaps the Captain had mistaken Bilbo for a Dwarf in the undoubtedly dark dungeons? With his small posture, it was not entirely impossible. 'What did this Dwarf look like?'

'Hmmm… Dark hair, brown eyes, little facial hair.' Tauriel paused here, and Ardhoniel was almost certain that the Elleth was, indeed, speaking of Bilbo. When she turned to the Captain, she noticed her cheeks had reddened even more, 'He was quite tall for a Dwarf, and certainly less wild-looking than some of the others… I believe one of his kinsmen called him "Kíli".'

As the name passed Tauriel's lips, several connections were made at once. Firstly, Ardhoniel was reminded – very painfully – of the kiss she had shared with the young Dwarf in the forest. Second, she was reminded of exactly the reason why the Dwarf had attempted to kiss her. And then, she connected the fair Elven lady from Kíli's dreams to the red-haired Elleth that stood in front of her. Ardhoniel's mouth gaped as she finally realised what Kíli must be seeing in the Captain.

'What is it, lady Ardhoniel?'

'It… it is nothing,' she hastened to say, but her mind refused to see Tauriel again as only the Captain of the Guard. 'Please, let us attend this competition you mentioned, lest we miss it.'

Tauriel regarded her strangely for a moment, then at last she nodded and led the way out of the room.

The training ground was a large, open, cavern-like room. The far end was as distant as the ceiling was high, and Ardhoniel noticed that there were small openings in the root-covered ceiling that led through natural sunlight. On one side, a large stand overlooked the various combat areas that littered the remainder of the room. Closest to the stand was a sparring arena, where two Ellons, clad in the same forest greens as the Captain by Ardhoniel's side, were already facing off against each other.

At first sight, the two looked matched in both strength and speed. Like all of their kin, they moved fast, preferring agility over might as they struck at their opponents. One of them, whose slightly darker blonde hair was the only distinguishing characteristic that she could make out at the speed at which they moved, was taller, and was able to use this to his advantage.

Ardhoniel was fairly certain that he would come out the victor, when Tauriel whispered to her, 'The taller one, Daeron, is a good fighter, but he does not parry well. You shall see, Hirgos will soon best him.'

As Daeron lifted his arm for another stroke, Hirgos moved in and, making use of the close distance, managed to hit the taller Ellon on his unprotected ribs. Then, in the moment of imbalance, he swiped at his legs. Daeron hit the ground, and the match was decided.

They watched several more matches like this and Ardhoniel could tell that Tauriel hardly needed to watch the competition to know which of the guards would come out superior. Each match, she would whisper the strengths and weaknesses of the contestants to her, and predict the outcomes – and she was wrong not once.

Sometime during the fifth match, the Prince joined them on the stands. He did not speak as he sat himself on the Captain's other side, but from the small smile they shared, it seemed words were hardly needed between the two friends. Ardhoniel, for one, was happy that he had decided to sit on the other side and simply watched the match contently as the two discussed the technicalities.

When the match was decided at last, an Elf donned in silvery robes announced the victorious contestant winner of the competition. 'Is there anyone who would challenge him yet?'

'I will.'

Tauriel stood confidently from her place on the bench. As she descended to the sparring arena, she unsheathed a wickedly curved sword that hung from her belt. A smile played at her lips as she bowed at the Ellon – a gesture which he returned tentatively. Then, the fight was on.

Ardhoniel watched on in awe at the battle that ensued beneath her feet. While all Elves fought with an innate gracefulness, Tauriel seemed to have perfected this art. Every slash and parry, every step she took blended seamlessly into the next, making her fighting to look like an elaborate – and deadly – dance. She was smaller, both in height and in build, than her opponent, but managed to use this to her advantage as she easily dodged his strikes and used her opponent's momentum against him.

'Tauriel is a fierce combatant and won't go easy on Langon, even if he is her second-in-command.'

Ardhoniel merely nodded, too enraptured in the battle to actually pay attention to what Legolas was saying – or even to be annoyed by his presence. As she watched her fight, Ardhoniel found herself assessing the Captain of the Guard.

The Elleth was clearly skilled in battle, and judging from the spark in her eyes and the smile on her lips, it was clear that she greatly enjoyed it, too. Ardhoniel had found her to be well-mannered and subdued, yet confident in her own skill, firm and commanding. A true leader. Moreover, in her talks with the Captain, Ardhoniel had quickly learned that Tauriel held a great love for the world they lived in. Furthermore, from the shared smiles and whispers with the Prince, Ardhoniel could tell the Captain was admired and well-liked, and had a place among her people.

In a sense, Tauriel embodied all that she had ever wanted to be. She was strong and wise, confident yet modest, beautiful yet fierce. Tauriel embodied all that she had ever wanted to be – yet had never quite managed to.

And yet, although she was enraptured with the world they lived in, Tauriel was less so with all of its inhabitants. She saw beauty, but only in that which she knew. She was curious to learn, but only that which fit into her world view. She saw the company of Dwarves in their dungeon as rude, ungrateful and uncivilized, but only because she cared not to look further than her own upbringing and culture would allow her.

And so, Ardhoniel found she could not envy the Captain of the Guard. For in her travels with the Dwarves of Erebor, Ardhoniel had found that great beauty may be found in places where you least expect it, and that sometimes one needs to move beyond their own prejudices to see it.

At that moment, Tauriel just landed a particularly vicious strike in Langon's knee cavities and pulled his feet from under him. Just like that, the match was over, the Captain had proven her worth – and Ardhoniel had decided that she needed to talk to the Dwarves.

It was time to tell them the truth. All of it.

~ Ellon = male Elf

* * *

 **Author's Note: Okay, okay I know I have been pushing the "big revelation" forward for a long time but I _promise_ it will be (at the very least partially) in the next chapter. So yeah, keep posted for that and don't forget to review this chapter!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter twenty: The truth unveiled**

That evening dinner was the same affair of concealed inquiries and veiled suggestions as the previous three had been. However, today Ardhoniel had a purpose – and she would need all her diplomacy and charm to achieve it.

'I've been told you visited the training grounds today. Tell me, what do you think of my Kingdom?'

Chewing a bite of lettuce slowly, Ardhoniel took her time formulating an answer. 'It is very beautiful.'

'And of my guards?'

'You are very lucky with such skilled warriors, my lord.'

'Indeed. As is your Company, I believe, for it is through their skill that you all live – or so I have been told.' Here his gaze shifted at his son, who stared at his plate stone-facedly. 'And for what; gold, jewels?'

When she did not respond, Thranduil shook his head dramatically. 'Dwarves value their treasures above all else – even above the lives of their own kin.'

Ardhoniel's blood boiled at his insinuation, yet she said nothing. Instead, she took another bite of the salad on her plate, biting down on the nutrient harder than was absolutely necessary.

'I warned King Thror of the evils that his greed may attract, but he would not listen. He brought the desolation of his kingdom, of his people, on them for his love of gold.'

When Ardhoniel looked up, she found Thranduil already staring at her. Grey met blue, and she found she could not look away as his gaze bore into her. For a moment, all was silent in the dining room.

Then at last he continued, slowly, never breaking his eye contact with. 'His grandson will bring the same fate on his kin. Death and ruin, desolation by dragon fire and madness by gold. _That_ will be Thorin Oakenshield's legacy.'

If it were any other day, if she did not have a purpose of staying her tongue, Ardhoniel would have lashed out at this point. Instead, she said only – and through clenched teeth – 'Perhaps. But in my travels with them, I have found that Thorin Oakenshield is honourable and just, and I belief that he would not purposefully let harm befall _any_ in his Company.'

At the same time, all she could think was that he was wrong about the kingly Dwarf. Aged Thranduil may be, but wise he certainly was not. Thorin cared about them, about all of them. He would not lay down their lives in exchange for a treasure.

'Is that so? What then, may I ask, would be your reward when the mountain is reclaimed?'

'I asked for nothing.'

'And yet you risk your life for them? Surely so honourable and just a Dwarf as you say would have offered you a reward for your services regardless?'

She did not know what to answer to that – and apparently Thranduil was satisfied with her silence, for he did not speak of it anymore, either. The meal was finished in silence, and Ardhoniel was left to her uneasiness.

Although she wanted to disregard the Elven King's treacherous words entirely, she could not help but feel that there was some truth to them. It was true, she had never asked for a share of the treasure, or any payment whatsoever. At the same time, she knew all Dwarves would receive a share once the Mountain would be reclaimed, and so would Bilbo. If she had truly been an accepted and trusted member of the Company, would Thorin not have offered the same to her?

Ardhoniel had not noticed when the maids had come in to clear the plates of the table, but was startled from her thoughts when Thranduil started to rise from his chair. She was reminded of her previous purpose – which now suddenly seemed less clear to her – and she started upright as well. 'Wait... my lord.'

The Elven King turned to her, silver robes billowing and one silvery eyebrow raised at her impertinence.

'I wish to speak to them.'

For a moment, she thought Thranduil would refuse, if only to spite her. Then, with the same emotionless expression, he nodded. 'Very well. Legolas, please escort the lady tonight to her _companions_.'

Surprised as she was at the actual acquiescence of her request, she was slightly stunned that she would already see the Company tonight. Something she had been thinking about for days now suddenly seemed too soon, especially while heart was now filled with unease.

As Thranduil opened the large doors, he paused, 'Do not hope, lady Ardhoniel. They are Dwarves, callous and unforgiving. They will not understand.'

* * *

Dwalin sat on his cot against the wall, glaring daggers at the back of the Elf that had just set down his dinner. More bread, water and green food – lovely. Nevertheless, when the guard was far enough along the corridor, the warrior retrieved the tray from where it sat, and brought it back to his previous resting place.

Time passed differently in the dungeons of the Elven King, and the side of salad with dinner was the only thing that gave him some way of keeping track of it. On the first day, he had been certain the Elven King would make another attempt at swaying Thorin to share the treasure. On the second, with every movement out in the hallway he had been sure it would be Thranduil. The third day he had attempted to convince himself that surely, the King was only trying to make them nervous. Now, well, Dwalin was not so sure anymore.

The truth was that Thranduil did not seem to have much of an interest in them. They got food and water, had a bed, and were it not for Durin's Day drawing ever nearer, he would have to admit that the Elven King's dungeons were not the most terrible place he had ever had to spent his time. But it was, and with each passing day, they had one less day to reach the Mountain. But alas, Thranduil cared not. In fact, apart from the guards outside their cells – and the strange red-haired Elven lady that came down once a day only to leave after a short round past their cells – they were very much forgotten.

Sounds outside his cell roused Dwalin from his thoughts. He could hear the tell-tale sound of footsteps on stone – _soft_ footsteps of course, because they belonged to those blasted Elves – and was about to attribute it to a change of the guard when he could hear voices. Although guards coming and going wasn't a unusual affair, them talking was. A King so sour and miserable as Thranduil would not wish for his guards to not be equally miserable.

Dwalin listened to the sound of the footsteps as they echoed through the stone corridor and, to his surprise, one pair came to a stop a few cell doors down. The soft, uncertain voice that then met his ears, however, was what surprised him the most.

'Thorin?'

* * *

The Dwarven King did not respond, yet his hard eyes met hers from across the cell. He was seated against the back wall of his cell, his face shrouded in shadows. He did not move closer, nor did he, for that fact, give any other sign that he was at least glad to see she was well.

Ardhoniel, for her part, was relieved to see that the Company was not any worse for wear than last she had seen them. However, that flicker of relief was quickly stomped out when she'd stopped in front of the Company Leader – and received such a cold welcome.

'I am glad to see you well,' she said at last, uncomfortably in the heavy silence. 'Or as well as possible, I suppose, given the circumstances.' Another silence followed her words, and Ardhoniel shifted in her spot. Truthfully, she had not considered, had not _wanted_ to consider, that Thorin would despise her so – or at least, already at this point. 'I asked Tauriel, the red-haired guard, to check up on you every day.'

'How very kind of you to think of us lowly Dwarves, _my lady_.'

She flinched at his words. Though spoken softly, and void of all emotion, the words cut deeply, hurting as much as any flesh wound would have. She instantly wished for the silence to return. 'That is not what I…-'

'Why have you come?'

Bowing her head, Ardhoniel closed her eyes as she fought her own cowardice. 'To tell you the truth – something I should have done a long time ago.'

He did not fight her on this, and as she chanced a look up at Thorin, his face was passive and unreadable. When he still said nothing, she lowered herself to the floor, crossing her legs beneath her and taking up the hem of the light blue dress in her hands. A moment passed in which she organized her thoughts, thinking of where to begin in the mess that she had made. Then at last she sighed, and started her tale, 'Mithrandir never invited me on your Quest. He spoke about it to lord Elrond… my father. He sought his council on the balcony of his study – I just happened to be reading a book on the bench below.'

Here she paused, the first of many lies now out in the open. She had thought that she would feel better once the truth was out, but found that just speaking the lie out loud had somehow made it even worse – had made what she'd done even worse. As long as the lie is only in one's mind, one can twist it, shape it into something that is not nearly half as bad as it actually is. But there was no euphemising it now – and she knew she could not stop here.

'I don't know why I did it,' she murmured against her fumbling fingers, 'My sister is named Undómiel – "Evenstar" – for her beauty is unsurpassed by any of the last generation of High Elves. But more importantly, she is kind, gentle, patient... She was always the diplomat of my siblings. My brothers, though at times childish, are warriors at heart, both of them.'

As she spoke, Ardhoniel could almost picture her siblings in her mind. Arwen, with her sweet temper, creamy skin and raven hair. And Elladan and Elrohir, eyes twinkling at the latest trick they would have pulled on an unsuspecting servant in her father's court. She missed them dearly. At the same time, Ardhoniel felt the familiar sting of envy as she thought of her siblings. 'Where they flourished, I merely floundered. I took my lessons, did my weapons training, yet I never excelled, never stood out in comparison to any of them. Then I joined the guard of Imladris fourty-seven years ago, but even there I was not worthy of any particular notice.'

Ardhoniel sighed, at this point speaking more to herself than to the silent cell. The feelings of inferiority were suddenly overwhelming and she lifted her head to once again lock eyes with the Dwarven King. She wanted him to understand, needed him to. For once she needed someone to understand what life was like for her.

And just like that, the fire in her heart died and she felt her throat close up. 'Why I came along? Perhaps I just wanted to prove to them that I was good at something. Perhaps I just wanted to prove to myself that I was good enough… that I belonged somewhere.'

Ardhoniel paused, forcing back the tears that were now threatening to spill. She had to continue now, he deserved to know. 'I am not Captain of the Guard at Imladris. Before this Quest, I did not even travel beyond the Trollshaws, with the exception of Lothlórien.'

Thorin had not spoken once up to this point, and she had not expected him to now. When he did, his voice was even colder than before, what could have been a question a mere statement. 'So you lied.'

'Yes.'

Although she had known the err of her actions ever since she appeared to them in that hallway in Imladris all those days ago, it was not until now, when all had been said and done, that Ardhoniel finally realised just how wrong she had been. Not only had she purposefully misled them, she had intruded on a sacred Quest for her own selfish reasons. She had forced Thorin's hand, giving him no choice but to accept her presence not out of any genuine wish to help, but for her childish need to prove her worth. Now, even though she had come further and done more than she nor anyone at home had ever thought her capable of, she felt nothing but shame.

She looked up at him, grey eyes pleading with him to understand. 'Thorin, please know that I never meant to cause you or any of the Company any harm. I…-'

'Spare me your excuses, Elf. I have nothing further to discuss with you.'

At this point, there were no more words to say. Climbing back to her feet, Ardhoniel could not help but remember Thranduil's earlier words. He had been right; they would not understand. Yet she felt there was no one to blame for it but herself. She had deceived them. Now she paid the price for her dishonesty.

She turned to leave, then stopped short, a last question burning on her lips. 'Did you ever see me as any more than a member of the race you despise so?'

'No.'

It was perhaps not so much the word, as the tone – so full of conviction and cool hatred – that made her heart ache so. She did not know where traveling to Erebor with the Company of Thorin Oakenshield would have taken her. And, it was true, at first she had hardly cared, for she had only wished for an opportunity to prove herself. Yet somewhere along the way, that selfish need for appreciation had grown, morphed into something that she hardly recognised herself. An emotion beyond fondness, a desperate desire to see them reach the Mountain that was far greater than Ardhoniel herself.

She would have given her life to protect them, every single one of them. It was a grief for lost life; not of that which had come to pass, but of that which would never be. 'Thorin?'

He did not respond, but she knew that he was still listening – perhaps for the last time.

Ardhoniel opened her mouth, unsure of the words that she wanted to say, her throat suddenly very dry. The Elleth's heart ached as she gazed into his passive face. Whatever she would say would not make a difference, she knew. She had lost him already. Yet, she wanted him to know when he'd look back on her – if indeed he ever would.

'I…' His brows furrowed, impatience clearly growing as she fought with and lost to her own cowardice, 'am sorry. I'm sorry Thorin, truly. For everything.'

She fled in the direction of the stairs, knowing that Legolas would still be waiting there – no doubt having heard every bit of her confession. She passed the other cells with her head hung, not being able to bear any more looks of contempt. As she passed one of the last cells, she was therefore surprised when a low voice called her name.

Kíli was standing against the bar of his cell and as she moved closer, Ardhoniel noticed a sad expression clouding his face. When she stopped in front of his cell door, he wordlessly extended his right arm to her, hand closed. 'I picked it up in Goblin Town, never had the chance to give it back to you,' he stated as his rough hand touched hers.

Opening her fist, she found a familiar silvery, oval pendent, hanging from a delicate chain in the palm of her hand. The tears that had already been forming in her eyes spilled at seeing her mother's necklace back once again. Looking up, her watery eyes found Kíli's, 'I am so sorry.'

'I know,' the corners of his mouth lifted a bit in a sad smile.

She returned it equally wanly, then turned back to the stairs.

As she was escorted back by the Prince in silence, Ardhoniel squeezed the pendent in her hand tightly, forcing back the tears until she was back in the privacy of her own room. There, the tears fell mercilessly and unrelentlessly until the first sunlight was already peeking through the drawn curtains, and Ardhoniel had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Okay, so there it is. I am so so so sorry; don't hate me too much! And let me know what you thought of the chapter!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note: Hi all, hope you've had a lovely weekend! I wish to thank you for sticking with _Bâhukhazâd_ so far, and I wish to give a special thanks to _Guest45_ and _sakshi .narvekar8_ (Is it bad that I feel partially guilty, partially proud that I managed to write such a tear jerker?) for their reviews of last week's chapter. This week's chap will mostly deal with what happened after that monumental moment **– **hence the title of this chapter. It is also quite long and contains a lot of different perspectives, hope you don't mind. Now, enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter twenty-one: The aftermath**

As the soft footsteps of their ex-guide and the Elven prince died out, a moment of silence filled the dungeons. The next, all Dwarves broke out in outrage.

'She deceived us,' Gloín cried out angrily.

'I knew it, treacherous Elf!'

'Never trust an Elf!'

Balin sighed deeply as he listened to the others. He was too old to wind himself up about it anymore. That was not to say that he shared not in their feelings; the weariness had permeated his very bones, his heart heavy with the deception.

From the start, they had known the lady Ardhoniel had not been completely open and honest with them. However, they all had their secrets and Balin had felt that if they were permitted to them, so should she be. Moreover, she had seemed like such a kind and honest lass, that he had not once considered her deception to be quite as grave.

For a long time he had observed her, and her interactions with their leader in particular – and at a certain point, had even grown to harbour hope. Hope that she would be the one to get through to him at last, the one that would melt the ice around his heart and teach him to live again. Now, Balin saw that he could not have been more wrong.  
She had not just deceived them. She had falsely given them hope that this would finally be an Elf that was to be trusted, that wanted to help, and for what? Glory? She had acted without any honour – and it was exactly because of that, that the Dwarves of Erebor could not forgive her.

Not missing the uncharacteristic lack of vocality of the Dwarven leader in question in the ensuing cacophony, Balin had no doubt that this, too, was the reason behind his silence.

* * *

When Tauriel called upon her the next morning, it was with a firm yet pleading voice that Ardhoniel requested to be left alone for the day. Either by her own intuition, or by an account of last night's events no doubt gracefully provided by the Prince, Tauriel did not object and instead, told her she would inform the maids to bring her meals to the guest room.

When the footsteps of the Captain had died out, Ardhoniel fell back in her pillow, staring out of the window above the canopy bed.

She had been but a young girl when her mother, Celebrían, had passed to the Undying Lands. It had been her first taste of grief, her first realization that even Elves would not pass through the ages of the world unscathed. That first evening, Arwen had offered to stay with her, but she had declined. Instead, she had retreated to her own room – and cried until all tears had been depleted and she had drifted off into unconsciousness. It had taken her months to recover enough to return to the things that she used to love so much – yet after that first night, she had not once shed a tear again about the loss of her mother.

Today, however, it appeared that her tears would not be so quickly depleted. Her eyes felt dry, her lips chapped, and the skin of her face felt taut from the salty tracks the tears had made until late in the night. Despite all that, Ardhoniel knew more tears were to follow. Even now, as the warm sunlight peaked through the crack in her curtains and she lay in a comfortable bed, her heart ached and her eyes glazed over. A part of her had hoped that last night's events had been but a bad dream, but the familiar pendent around her neck told her otherwise.

As her hand ghosted over the oval shaped jewel, she found it felt heavier than she remembered. Now, it was no longer solely weighed down by the grief and memories of her mother, it also carried her memories – both fond and painful – of her adventures with the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.

Dear young Kíli, who must have picked up her necklace in the midst of battle, knowing how much the jewellery meant to her. And sweet Fíli, who had come to her all those days ago to apologise for the behaviour of his rash but well-meaning younger brother, the first of the Dwarves to make an offer of peace and even acceptation.

A fresh round of tears fell as Ardhoniel remembered each and every member of the Company, when at last her mind settled on Thorin. They had not seen eye-to-eye at first. In fact, she dare say that it was only after that terribly embarrassing moment down by the stream that she had felt that she had gained a true understanding of him. Ever since, her respect, as well as her regard for him had grown into something that she might almost call fondness.

She could only wonder where time would have stranded them. After last night, however, whatever her thoughts and feelings regarding the Dwarf had been or might have become given time hardly mattered.

* * *

Thranduil waited impatiently as one of the guards went to fetch Captain Tauriel. When she appeared, it was in the company of his son, and the King set his mouth in irritation. Legolas was loyal to her to a fault – something which might prove to be quite inconvenient in the future – and he knew that soon he would need to intervene, lest his son would get any strange ideas.

'You called for me, my Lord?'

Thranduil turned from the pair, touching his hands together as he moved to sit on his throne. 'I've been told the lady Ardhoniel did not leave her rooms for breakfast or lunch today.'

'No, my Lord.'

'Captain, please make sure our guest will join us for dinner.'

When Tauriel did not immediately respond in affirmation, Thranduil turned his eye back on her. She was not looking at him, but even from the angle of her downward-pointed face he recognized the expression of confliction.

'Well?'

'My Lord please forgive me for my impertinence, but I would not.'

'You would not?' He repeated, lifting one arched eyebrow at the Captain, his patience quickly waning.

'The lady has had a few trying days; she needs some time to recuperate, my Lord.'

'I care not. She _will_ …-'

'Tauriel is right, father,' Legolas interrupted, his blue eyes meeting his own without reservation. Indeed, he might need to intervene very soon… 'She is our guest, and as such is permitted to stay in her room if she pleases. If you wanted her to obey your every word, you should have locked her up in the dungeons with the Dwarves.' His courage faltering, Legolas bowed his head. 'Besides, has she not done exactly what you wanted already? Her visit with the Dwarves went just as you predicted and she knows they do not care for her any longer; if she has anything to tell you she will. In her own time.'

Thranduil narrowed his eyes on his son's face, then on Tauriel's, considering their words. Perhaps there was some merit in waiting…

* * *

That evening, Tauriel was on her way back to her rooms, having finished all of her duties for the day. That morning, she had been denied entry by the lady Ardhoniel. Later, at the shooting range, she has learned the reason for this from Legolas, who had relayed the events of the prior night to her with a frown marring his face. She had learned of the lady's deception of the Dwarves, the Dwarves' reaction – and of the role his father had had in playing them out against each other. Then, in the afternoon, Thranduil had called on her once again, intending to send her out to the lady like a chess piece on a board.

All who knew her, knew that despite her regular differences with Thranduil, the Captain was loyal to her King and to her people. Now, however, Tauriel could not help but feel profusely shamed and revolted by her King's behaviour. Of course, both the lady and the Dwarves had played their own part – and would most likely have even without the interference of the Elven King – but she was abhorred by his evident enjoyment of the situation.

She did not know when her feet decided on a change of destination, but when she looked up from the floor – and her thoughts – Tauriel found herself once again descending the stairs into the dungeons.

As a secluded Kingdom, far removed from any other civilization, it was a rare occasion for the dungeons of King Thranduil to be in use. Indeed, in all her years, Tauriel couldn't remember one such occasion. After all, both Orcs and spiders did not exactly lend themselves to imprisonment. Now, they suddenly had not one, but thirteen prisoners, and she had found herself down there more times than she cared for.

'Captain Tauriel,' the guard on duty addressed her in a surprised tone as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She recognised him to be one of the newer guards, Túven.

She bowed her head in greeting. 'Good evening. You are on evening shift, I assume?'

'Yes, Celechon will relieve me in two hours.'

Quite without knowing why she did it – which was a rarity for the Captain, for usually she did nothing without giving it extensive thought – she found herself saying, 'I will take it from here; you are dismissed.'

The young Ellon lingered for a bit, unsure of what to do. Then, after deciding it was not up to him to question such a direct order from his Captain, he nodded and handed her the keyring. 'Good night, Captain.'

Attaching the keyring to her belt, Tauriel made the mandatory round past the cells to check whether all prisoners were accounted for, absent-mindedly. Then, she sat herself down on the bottom step of the stairs with a weary sigh.

In all honesty, she had no idea why she had come here tonight. The lady Ardhoniel had not asked her to do so – nor did she expect her to ever ask again – and Tauriel had little business here herself. Yet, she felt that the Dwarves locked in the dungeon may be the key to her strange behaviour as of late.

In all her years as Captain of the Guard, and even before that, she had never truly seen eye-to-eye with King Thranduil, their characters and opinions too vastly different to mesh well. However, Tauriel had known her place and had, regardless of her own thoughts or feelings, always executed her orders without hesitation. But ever since the Company of Thorin Oakenshield had landed themselves on their doorstep, she had found herself starting to do exactly that.

She did not understand the Dwarves in the dungeon, nor their Elven friend currently residing in one of the guest room. However, Tauriel was a proficient reader of character, and having spent many hours in the company of the lady Ardhoniel, she had found she could not think badly of the Elleth. In fact, she had found she enjoyed the directness in the lady's manner of conduct, for it was a breath of fresh air when one was used to the intricate and often confusing plays of power that dominated the intercourse in the court of Thranduil.

Tauriel did not know where that conclusion left her.

* * *

Ardhoniel was once again back in the dungeons. However, the torches on the wall were unlit, and the small beam of moonlight that illuminated her surroundings cast long shadows in front of her. Where the last time the dungeons had been filled with the soft sounds of life, they were now eerily quiet and cold. She took a step towards the closest cell to her left, grabbing the bars tightly as she peered into the darkness within. Nothing. There was no one.

Her heart beat picked up as she moved to the next, finding it similarly empty. Where were they? Had the Dwarves escaped without her? Panicking, she rushed over to the fourth cell on her right hand. Pushing herself up against the cold steel of the cell bars, her stomach dropped as she realized Thorin, too, was gone.

A firm hand grasped her shoulder, and she jerked awake.

Ardhoniel sat up in her bed, breath coming out in pants and heart pounding, as all remnants of the dream fled her memory. The moon was out, bathing the room in its pale light, and the Elleth's eyes darted around the secluded bedroom area to ascertain she was still alone. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a moment and forced her heart to calm down. When she reopened her eyes, Ardhoniel found herself suddenly not as alone anymore.

'Bilbo!'

'Shh,' he cried, holding his hands up in an attempt to placate her. He looked around him, as if one of the guards may just appear out of thin air at the commotion. When she did not make any other sounds, he slowly inched closer to the bed.

Being completely honest, Ardhoniel found herself having to admit that she had quite forgotten about the poor Hobbit. Now as she assessed him, she was glad to note that he seemed all right – if a bit dirty. When she patted the bed, he dropped himself on the edge with a deep sigh.

'Are you all right, Bilbo?' Ardhoniel inquired gently, when the Hobbit made no sign of speaking.

'Pardon?' Bilbo scratched his brown curls, which were matted with dirt and spider webs. 'Oh yes, quite all right, thank you.' He lapsed into another silence, when he frowned suddenly. 'In fact, no, I'm not all right! I've been sneaking around this place for days! Haven't had a bite to eat, not a wink of sleep. Blasted Elves never seem to rest…' His ears reddened a little at this, as if only now realising what he'd said. 'Ah, I am sorry, that was…'

'Not at all, dear Bilbo.' Just then, a thought occurred to the Elleth and she slipped from beneath the covers. Poor Bilbo did not even make an attempt to look away as she made her way to the living area in nothing but her nightdress, so tired was he! A moment later, the Elleth re-emerged, carrying a tray of cold, but otherwise completely perfect food. 'Here, they brought me this for dinner; I'm afraid I wasn't very hungry. It would be a shame to have it go to waste.'

The Hobbit's good manners lasted for all but two seconds, before his resolve broke and he tucked into the food bare-handed with much relish – and little care for his table manners. When he had finished the last of the dinner, Bilbo looked up to find that Ardhoniel had tied a dressing gown over her nightdress and had sat herself next to him.

'I followed the Dwarves to the dungeons the first day we got here,' Bilbo explained, feeling a little more like himself now his stomach was filled. 'It was more difficult to find you and when I did, to contact you. Do you know they have guards at your door at all times?'

This latter news hardly surprised Ardhoniel, for she knew Thranduil did not trust her. However, what interested her more was the former bit of news. Did the Dwarves know Bilbo was still free? And more importantly, had he spoken to them? She bit her tongue instead, nodding along as the Hobbit started another (silent!) tirade about the Elves of Mirkwood.

'I've been trying to think of ways of getting us out of here, but so far haven't been able to come up with anything useful I'm afraid. If only Gandalf was here…' He yawned, rubbing at his tired eyes – an action which did not escape the Elleth.

'Get some sleep, my dear Bilbo, you've more than earned it,' she smiled at him, gesturing at the bed.

'But, we… the escape…'

'Can wait until the morning.'

Bilbo looked at the bed conflictedly, then at her. 'But… what about you? Where will you sleep?'

'I will not be getting any sleep tonight anyway. But do not worry, we Elves do not require as much sleep as you, and I can easily do with a little less.' Bilbo made another, half-hearted attempt at refusing the offer as she stood from the bed, but she shook her head. 'Sleep, dear Bilbo. I will make sure no one disturbs your slumber.'

And so it was that Bilbo, exhausted and more than a little dirty, climbed under the soft covers of the canopy bed. If he had any more energy to spare, he may have wondered at the sheer size of the bed, the softness of the linen, or perhaps of the last time he had ever been so comfortable. Instead, the Hobbit fell asleep even before his head hit the pillow.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note: Hello all! I hope you've all enjoyed your weekends! As usual, a massive thanks to _Guest_ for their review of the last chapter. To respond to one of the issues you raised; I think the Dwarves would perhaps not be so much offended by her deception of her heritage, her skills (or lack thereof) or the fact that Gandalf did not ask her to come. I believe they (and perhaps I would too, in the same situation) be more affronted by the implication of it: namely, that she used their noble quest (and themselves!) as a means to prove herself. Does that make sense?**

 **On another note, I changed the summary of this story. Let me know what you think!  
**

 **Anyways, on with the story!**

* * *

 **Chapter twenty-two: Of Mirkwood, Imladris and Lothlórien**

'Although I do not like these Elves half as much as the ones in Rivendell, I cannot say anything bad about this fish.' Bilbo licked his fingers as he swallowed the last of the food.

For the past few nights, Ardhoniel had requested late night snacks be brought to her room. So far, the maids had not complained, although she had received some odd looks when her bath water had been so murky that she had not been able to see the bottom of the tub anymore. Bilbo had been glad to be clean once again, however, and Ardhoniel, too, could not say she minded the absence of the foul stench that had accompanied him. If she had wondered in general how he had passed through the hallways unnoticed, she did even more when she considered the penetrating odour.

For her part, Ardhoniel had returned to her routine the morning after Bilbo had found its way into her chambers to keep up the pretence of normalcy. Moreover, she found that in between her outings with Tauriel, her meals shared with the King and Prince, and her evenings with Bilbo, she had hardly anytime to think about the Dwarves in the dungeons. Which was for the best.

'… absolutely excellent! Where do you suppose they get it?'

'Esgaroth,' Ardhoniel answered almost automatically. Coincidentally, Tauriel had told her just that day about the Kingdom's extensive trade with the town of Men to the east. 'The Elves send down wine in large barrels to the Men and in return, they get fresh fish from the lake.'

The Hobbit nodded in understanding, as he used the napkin on the tray to wipe his fingers and mouth. Then he sighed deeply, 'I snuck out this morning soon after you left with that… red-haired Elf. However, I don't seem to be getting any closer in finding a way to get us out of here. I observed the guards for a bit and it appears they have a special keyring for the cell doors; however, I have no idea how we could acquire it.'

Not for the first time, Ardhoniel wondered how Bilbo had been able to sneak past the Elves unnoticed. However, there was something more pressing in his speech that caught her attention, and she found she could ignore it no longer. 'Bilbo,' she started, then took a deep breath, 'Not we; _you_.'

'Pardon?'

'I have not been honest with you, I am not who you think I am.' Ardhoniel gazed up from her fumbling hands, finding the Hobbit's face deceptively blank. So she continued, 'In fact, Mithrandir never even asked me to come on this journey. I lied so that maybe you could accept me.'

She waited for his expression to turn into one of shock, maybe disgust… anything. Instead, nothing happened for a good long moment. Then at last, Bilbo's lips turned up into a sheepish smile. 'Yes I know, I happened to be in the dungeons when you told the Dwarves.'

'Then you know why I cannot continue with you.'

Bilbo's eyebrows furrowed, and he gave her a stern look, 'I did not think you would let some grouchy Dwarves' opinions deter you.'

'It is not just that, Bilbo, although they are right in their opinions of me. I don't have a place among the Company, not really. I was never meant to come with you.' She took a deep breath, forcing back the ache in her chest. 'But that is all right, for it means that I know you will do fine without me.'

'But…-'

'No, do not fight me on this, my dear Hobbit. It is better this way. I expect my father's guards to arrive any day to take me home.' Then she smiled at him, and although it did not lack in its usual warmth, there was a sadness behind her eyes that belied her previous words. 'Where I do expect to hear great success stories about the Dwarves of Erebor and their excellent Hobbit Burglar.'

Bilbo pursed his lips, eyebrows drawn in disapproval, but said no more on the matter.

* * *

Three days after that conversation with the She-Elf, Bilbo found himself once more wandering the hallways of the Elven King's palace. It had taken some convincing, but at last Ardhoniel had agreed that if he wanted to get the Dwarves out of the dungeons, he could not lie idly in the canopy bed – comfortable though it was! – all day. However, hours roaming the corridors had done little for coming up with a plan. For an hour, he had sat on the stone stairs leading down to the dungeons and had observed the guards, hoping to find anything that could help him break the Dwarves out. Although he had little luck in that department, sitting down there had brought him to two conclusions.

First, it appeared there was only one set of keys to the cell doors, which was exchanged by the guards at the change of shift. If he wanted to free the Dwarves, he would somehow need to find a way to get a hand on them.

Second, Bilbo could not help but notice the Dwarves themselves appeared considerably less hopeful than several days prior. He wondered whether it was because of the passing of time – or perhaps had something to do with the confession of a certain Elven lady.

For her part, Ardhoniel seemed to have pulled herself somewhat together since their conversation. And although she had stated repeatedly that she could and would not be a part of their Company anymore, she had promised him to keep her eyes and ears open. Despite this, she had been less than pleased when Bilbo had told her he would sneak out again that evening. He had been meaning to reassure her by telling her of the magic ring he had found in Gollum's cave, but when his hand had touched the cool surface of the jewellery in his pocket, he had suddenly found himself very unwilling to. She might not have understood, Bilbo later reasoned with himself. Despite her youthful nature, Ardhoniel was an Elf still, and for all that he liked about them, he found they were truly much too serious. For all he knew, she may have considered it to be an object of great evil and have him part from it – and then how would he ever get them all safely out of Mirkwood? No, it was best to remain, for now, his little secret.

* * *

Bofur was quietly slumbering against the side wall of his cell when he heard it. A sound. Or perhaps nothing at all; perhaps the days of imprisonment had finally started to eat away at his mind. No, there it was again; a scurrying across the stone floor just outside his cell. If these were not Elven dungeons, Bofur may have considered them to be rats.

But no rat it were – or at least, not in the way the Dwarf considered it. Instead, a small Hobbit, with bare, hairy feet and a waistcoat that missed several buttons, silently cursed himself for kicking against a small piece of rock. After having made sure he was still invisible – and satisfied that the Dwarves appeared to be holding up just fine, if a bit grouchy – Bilbo quickly scrambled away.

Pushing himself off of his cot, Bofur went to stand at his cell door. There was nothing of course. It must have been somewhere in the night or early morning perhaps, for there was no movement in any of the cells – and for once even the ever-chatty Elven guards were silent. Peering to his right, he noticed that it was once again the red-haired She-Elf that sat at the base of the stairs; the same one he had noticed Kíli, who sat in the cell across his, eying whenever the young Dwarf thought no one was looking. As she seemed lost in thought, Bofur took this moment to observe the Elf, too.

She had a fair countenance, with pink lips and shimmering, but serious green eyes shining like emeralds in the dark. Of course, the most striking about her appearance was her auburn hair, which hung in an intricate but practical hairdo down her back. All in all, Bofur concluded that she was quite pretty – if one liked their women tall, flat, and beardless, that is.

Deciding to have a little fun, Bofur called out to her, 'Good day, milady Elf.' With a flourish, he took his hat off and bowed to her with a broad smile. 'Or is it perhaps evening, or morning, or night?'

She looked up at him in surprise, but quickly schooled her features in a neutral expression. 'The morning will be upon us in a few hours. However, the moon is still high in the heavens; I suggest you get some sleep, master Dwarf.'

'And what about you, lady Elf?'

'I am on duty here.'

'Indeed?' Bofur grinned at her, 'I heard the guards last evening speak of a Nelon, of whom they said that "he was rather dim-witted". I admit, Elven sex is difficult to determine, but I had pegged you female.'

The red-haired She-Elf blushed, but she did not look away as he had expected her to. 'My business _and_ my sex are my own, master Dwarf. I suggest you now go back to sleep.'

He did not argue with her this time. Instead, he quietly lay back down on his cot, staring at the ceiling of the cell. However, he could not help the broad smile that stretched across his lips.

* * *

'How fairs your family? It has been long since last I saw them.'

'Quite well,' Ardhoniel nodded at the maid that placed a soup in front of her. Ever since she had resumed eating in the company of the King, she had noticed a positive change in his behaviour towards her. Although she certainly would not call his company pleasant, he had refrained from interrogating her and seemed to have settled for polite conversation. She had no doubt there was some strategy or another behind it, but for as long as it lasted, she was simply glad for the respite. 'My brothers have recently taking up training young recruits for the guard. I am curious to see how long they shall manage such an endeavour.'

'Ah yes, Elladan and Elrohir. I believe they always had a… knack for trouble.'

'You believe correct. It was my father's hope the added responsibility would finally straighten them out. I have little faith in that, however.' Ardhoniel added, a small smile playing at her lips as she thought about her mischievous brothers.

'You do remember the lady's brothers, do you not, Legolas?'

The Prince looked up from his food, obviously unprepared to be involved in the conversation. He looked dazed for a moment, then nodded and smiled somewhat grimly. 'Yes, I believe I remember one particular occasion on which they convinced me that it was tradition for the Ellyn of Imladris to wear special robes for a feast. Not being of age yet, I of course believed them and wished to follow the traditions of my hosts. It was only when I arrived at the feast that I noticed there was no such thing as special robes – and the twins had instead clothed me in one of the lady Arwen's gowns.'

A curt knock on the double doors interrupted the reminiscing, and all three Elves looked up to find a lanky Ellon, his soft facial features revealing his young age. 'Excuse me, my King,' he cleared his throat, voice shaking slightly, 'A company from Lothlórien has arrived. They say they are here for the lady Ardhoniel.'


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note: Welcome back dear readers! I've been writing this chapter while being ill and studying for exams (honestly I've prioritized getting this chapter out in time over studying, so I may need to question my priorities...) so there may be some mistakes that I didn't catch up on, but I hope they're not too glaring. Anyway, big thank you to _Guest45_ for their review(s), I am really grateful for them! Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter twenty-three: But now comes the day...**

Contrary to what she had been expecting, the aforementioned Elves did not appear after this announcement. Instead, the young Ellon made a nervous gesture for his King, Prince, and Ardhoniel to follow him.

No words were spoken as the servant led them from the dining room to their mysterious destination. When they stopped at last in front of the throne room, however, Ardhoniel found she could hardly be surprised; Thranduil, in all his vanity, would not waste an opportunity to show off his kingship to save his life.

The King of the Woodland Realm in question all but glided across the room and took his place on the throne. Legolas, with the same grace but perhaps a little less dramatics went to stand on his father's right side, leaving Ardhoniel standing somewhere between the two royals and the new arrivals, which had yet to speak since their entrance.

In the short moment of silence that followed, Ardhoniel took to studying the gold-clad newcomers, whose features matched her own in so many aspects – and who were, in a way, her kin. There were eight of them, each donned in the same golden armour and midnight blue cape that characterized the warriors of the Golden Wood. They were tall – although even the tallest and apparently the leader of the group only reached to Ardhoniel's eye-level – and had bright eyes and golden hair that peaked out from under their golden helmets. With the helmets still on, Ardhoniel could not make out any familiar faces among them. The weapons of the newcomers were sheeted, but it was clear from their posture that these Elves were as much at ease at the Elven King's court as she herself was.

'I welcome you to my Halls, kin of Lothlórien,' Thranduil called out at last, cold eyes roaming the company in front of him. Then, he stood, 'However, Orcs have been spotted near our borders and the spiders of the wood are growing ever bolder, and so it is that I must inquire after your purpose in these lands.'

'Captain Aglaron, at your service, my Lord.' It was the tall Ellon that spoke, and as he stepped forward and into the light, a sense of recognition registered somewhere in the far back of Ardhoniel's mind. 'The Lady Galadriel has sent us to retrieve the Lady Ardhoniel and bring her to the safety of the Golden Wood.'

She furrowed her brows in confusion at the leader's statement; was she not going home?

In the meanwhile, Thranduil was not at all pleased with the arrival of the Elves of Lothlórien, and certainly not with this last announcement. He had counted on having more time with the Lady to _convince_ her to divulge the Dwarves' secrets, before any Elves would arrive from Imladris. This certainly complicated matters…

'I am afraid that simply will not do. I have already sent word to Lord Elrond that his daughter was found. It would not do for his guards to arrive here only to learn she has moved somewhere else once more.'

'The Lady Galadriel is aware. Nevertheless, she has requested the presence of Lady Ardhoniel, _her granddaughter_ , in Caras Galadhon.'

'Why?' The Lady Ardhoniel blurted out, apparently incapable of remaining silent any longer.

Captain Aglaron turned to her with an empty expression, seemingly unaffected by her lack of decorum. 'The road is growing ever more dangerous, my Lady. It has been decided by Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond that you are safer in Lothlórien for now.'

Realizing there was little he could do to sway them from their current path, Thranduil switched tactics swiftly. He nodded, 'So it shall be. I will arrange for a selection of my own guards to escort you over the Elven road to the western edge of forest. From thereon, you and the Lady Ardhoniel will travel south to Lothlórien. Before you go, I insist you and your company enjoys our hospitality for a few days, Captain Aglaron. On the day after tomorrow, my kitchen will prepare a feast for the departure of our honoured guest.'

As he had expected, the Captain did not – and could not – refuse.

* * *

Soon after the conversation, the Elves of Lothlórien had been offered food, drinks, and freshly made beds, each of which they gratefully albeit hesitantly accepted. Ardhoniel had been escorted by the Prince to her room, where she'd relayed the news to an anxious Bilbo. The Hobbit had easily agreed with her that the behaviour of the King reeked of hidden motives, but neither spoke much – the reality of the Lady's leave only now starting to sink in.

The next two days were spent in much the same manner as all days in Thranduil's Halls for Ardhoniel. She visited the training grounds with Tauriel, or the marketplace, the library or the gardens and, overall, saw very little of the Elves of Lothlórien. Indeed, if her imminent departure had not been a constant weight on her mind, she might have pretended they were not there at all. Even if that were not the case, however, there was once more a notable shift in the King's behaviour towards her that she had no doubt was related to her departure.

When she had entered the dining hall on the day after the arrival of the Lothlórien Elves, the King had informed her that his son was "otherwise engaged" – leaving her to the mercy of Thranduil. No more than five minutes of innocent conversation had gone by before the King, apparently, had had enough of pleasantries.

'My guards tell me the Dwarves have shown themselves to be more complacent these last few days… that they may even be open to another attempt at negotiation.

'Did Oakenshield tell you of my offer to help him and his Company to reclaim Erebor?' Here he paused, more for dramatic effect than actually expecting an answer. 'You see, there are things in that mountain that I, too, desire. Many decades ago, I requested the confection of a necklace by the Dwarves of Erebor. I provided them with pure silver and the White Gems of Lasgalen, and the promise of high payment on the completion of the request. When the time came for delivery, King Thrór refused. By then the dragon sickness had taken hold of the King's mind, and the great beauty of the gems had ensnared him. King Thrór would not part from the necklace.

Alas, soon the dragon Smaug descended on the Mountain and the Gems, along with the many other treasures of Erebor, were lost.'

Silence followed as Ardhoniel took in his tale. Could it be true? The greed of Dwarves was fabled and this had not been the first time she had heard of the obsession that had taken hold of the former King of Erebor. Moreover, despite herself, Ardhoniel was reminded of Thorin, who despite all his fancy words and offers of peace had not once offered her a share of the treasure.

'I would help Oakenshield to reclaim his homeland, if but I had substantiation that he indeed has found a way into the Mountain, that I am not needlessly sending my men there. I have no desire for any of the riches in that mountain, but for that necklace – the last link I have to my late wife.'

His last words hung heavily in the air between them, and Ardhoniel chanced a glance up at the Elven Lord – only to find his eyes already on her. For the first time, she did not shy away from his gaze, instead daring to tentatively explore those blue eyes. There was emotion there, even pain – and Ardhoniel wondered how she had never considered the effect the death of his spouse must surely have had. Could it be that he simply wished for the return of the necklace, which he had requested be made for his wife and, as a result, had really been his to begin with?

She returned her mind to what he'd been asking, trying to ignore those haunting eyes. Thorin would surely hate her for even considering telling the Elven King of the key and Thrór's map. And yet, at the end of the day there was still a dragon waiting for them in Erebor and they numbered only thirteen. They needed Thranduil's help more than they might like to admit. Thorin's pride may stand in the way of seeing the truth, but she could see clearly how much the odds were stacked against the small Company. Besides, what did Thorin's hate matter to her now that she was leaving them anyway? What did his hate matter when it would mean they would live – and all for the small price of one necklace?

'There is another way in. Thorin has…-'

A loud crash cut her speech short, and both Ardhoniel and the King looked up in surprise. A silver serving platter, which until moments ago had been standing innocently – and quite securely – in the middle of the dining table, was on the stone floor, its contents spilled all around. Interestingly, there was no way that it could have fallen on its own…

Thranduil quickly called for a servant to clean up the mess, and Ardhoniel took this moment to glance around her. There was nothing, of course. Or at the very least nothing that she could see, for just then she felt the touch of fingers on her arm – and it took all her will not to cry out.

'Don't.' It was a mere whisper, but it was enough to recognize the voice as belonging to her dear friend of the Shire. The only question was, where was he?

Before she had any time to reflect on this most curious matter, the servant left, the mess cleaned, and Ardhoniel was once more captured by Thranduil's cool blue eyes. 'You were saying, my Lady?'

A moment passed in which she considered what she was to do. Here was Thranduil, with his heartfelt words and promises. But could he really be trusted? Ardhoniel breathed in deeply and met the Elven King's eyes, 'I said that Thorin has been searching for another way in. Apparently Thraín once told him of another entrance, but last I heard Thorin was no closer to finding out its location. I am afraid that is all I know.'

* * *

'What is all this merry-making? Did the goldilocks princeling turn out to be male after all and finally found himself a wife?' Gloín wondered with much contempt as the sound of music, chatting and laughter trickled down into the dungeons.

'A knife? Well what are you waiting for, get us all out of here, brother!' Oín called from across the hallway.

'Not a knife, you idiot, a… Oh never mind it. It is high time we leave these dungeons, I say; I have had more than enough of these prissy tree humpers!'

'Mind your tongue, Dwarf,' called one of the guards absent-mindedly from across the hall. Sílon was occupying himself with a deck of cards, thoroughly soured that he did not get to join in the evening's festivities because he was on duty in the dungeons.

It was due to his distraction that Bilbo had no trouble sneaking towards the cells. Before he turned the corner, he took of his magic ring. Luckily, by this time, the Dwarves had enough sense not to greet him audibly. Instead, Bofur tipped his hat, Ori waved, and Kíli smiled enthusiastically at him; the other Dwarves only perked up because his appearance usually meant news.

'It is not yet night; is it safe to be here, Burglar?' Came Thorin's low voice, commanding even when used only in whisper.

'Oh yes, quite safe. They're having quite a party if you hadn't noticed. I don't think anyone will be paying much attention tonight.'

'Yes, what is that all about?' Fíli asked, before sneaking a peak at the guard – who was still thoroughly focused on his cards and his self-pity.

'Thranduil has thrown a feast, which is why I am here.'

'Because the snotty Elven King has decided to throw a feast?' Dwalin raised an eyebrow.

'Yes! No! I am here because the reason he's throwing a feast is because an escort has arrived for Ardhoniel. She is leaving tomorrow!'

That exclamation did not have the desired response. In fact, the dungeons became eerily quiet in the aftermath. It was Thorin himself who broke the silence. 'And what then? What is the Elf to us?'

'What is…' Bilbo started, exasperated – and for a moment quite forgetting his surroundings. 'She got us out of Rivendell, she led us through Mirkwood, she saved Ori! She risked her life for your Quest!'

'She came because of her own selfish reasons!'

'And she stayed because of us!' Catching himself, the Hobbit lowered his voice, although the conviction by his words was not one bit lesser for it. 'Do you not think she has had more than enough reason to turn around? To give up? She might have come for her own reasons, but she stayed to help you.'

'I hope the Lady Ardhoniel finds safe passage home,' Thorin said at last, his voice steady, emotionless and final, 'and wish her all the best in life.'

* * *

 **... To bid you farewell**


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note: Hello all and to everyone who celebrates it: happy holidays! I've done my very best to get this chapter out to you today despite the holidays and am quite pleased that I managed. I wish to thank _Guest45_ and _MissCallaLilly_ for their lovely reviews, you guys are amazing! I also wish to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has favorited or followed _Bâhukhazâd,_ I love you all! Now, enjoy this chapter and see you all in the New Year! **

* * *

**Chapter twenty-four: _A Elbereth Gilthoniel_**

The moment of their departure was quiet and unemotional, for the only goodbyes that really mattered had already been shared in private. Bilbo had entered the guest room shortly after she had, and they had sat in companionable silence for a long time before the Hobbit had spoken at last. 'I cannot believe you are really leaving us.'

Neither of them had said anything after that, for it was a sentiment they shared. Now was not the time for uplifting words, they both felt, and so they soon readied themselves for bed. When the pair had at last crawled under the covers on opposite sides of the canopy bed, it was with a heavy heart.

The next morning Bilbo had already been gone when Ardhoniel awoke, and with the calm – and by now more than familiar – knock on the door, another farewell was to be shared. Fortunately, Captain Tauriel was not prone to bouts of emotion and so when Ardhoniel appeared at the door, the red-haired Elleth had made no show of breezing into the room and presenting her with her bow – drawn with a new bowstring and polished to perfection. Accepting it, Ardhoniel spent a moment admiring the polished wood before her eyes locked with Tauriel's. 'Thank you,' she spoke, hoping her eyes would convey what her words surely could not. Thank you for taking such good care of her bow. For keeping an eye on her friends even though she cared little for them. For making her stay in Thranduil's Halls that bit more bearable.

It appeared that the Captain must have read at least a measure of the weight behind those words in her eyes, for when she bowed her head in acceptance, Tauriel's lips stretched into a small, knowing smile.

Their route across the many winding hallways seemed much shorter than it usually did, and before long they had arrived at the entrance hall where the Elves of Lothlórien and the King and Prince of Mirkwood were already waiting.

As she started towards the awaiting party, rucksack on her back and her bow safely strapped on top of it, Tauriel met her gaze once more, 'Have safe travels… my friend.'

* * *

The trek back through Mirkwood seemed less long, and yet at the same time longer, for each step carried her further from her friends.

The Elves, it turned out, were rather dull travel company. They spoke softly, laughed melodically and all in all were far too serious to Ardhoniel's liking. A small part of her wondered whether her former travels had always been like this, but the bigger part had pushed this voice of reason to the background. Surely this had to be an attribute of the Elves of Lothlórien and Mirkwood.

As it was, however, both sets of guards spoke only to her when necessary – which proved to be seldom, as they knew their way around the forest far better than her, and all other duties such as cooking, collecting firewood and hunting were always quickly delegated to other, "lesser" members of the company when they set up and broke camp. This left Ardhoniel very much alone on the journey through Mirkwood – and with plenty of time to think.

The very first day, she had vowed not to think of the friends that she left behind, the distance increasing with every step she took. Instead, she found herself observing Captain Aglaron on an increasingly regular basis. There was something about him, something familiar, but she could not place it. The Captain himself had not made it any easier, for during their entire travel through Mirkwood, the Ellon had not spoken to her once, leaving her with the distinct impression that he must not like her very much. Ardhoniel remembered attempting to engage him in conversation at the feast – and the rejection that had followed.

Dinner had been spent mostly in silence for Ardhoniel, listening somewhat absent-mindedly as Thranduil had made polite conversation with the Elves of Lothlórien. After the last of dessert had been cleared and the music started, it was not long before Prince Legolas asked her for a dance. Given their strained relationship, the dance was an uncomfortable affair, with neither speaking much apart from occasional – and forced – comments about the music, the dance, and the decoration of the room. When the dance had finally ended and Ardhoniel was released by the Prince, she spotted the Captain, who had still been seated in his chair at the dining table. Her curiosity peaked, she'd believed this may be just the opportunity to speak with him.

'Would you care for a dance, Captain?'

The Ellon had glanced up slowly, face blank yet taut. 'I am afraid I do not dance, my Lady.'

It had not been the answer she had expected, for it was altogether considered impolite to refuse a dance, especially from someone of her station. However, it would be even more impolite were she to make a scene about it, and so Ardhoniel had been left to simply nod in response, before making a quiet and very awkward exit.

Ever since, Ardhoniel had caught herself watching the Captain, trying to pinpoint why he seemed so familiar to her – and what could be the reason for his cold attitude towards her. So far, however, she had little luck in either.

In the moments that she could not distract herself with thoughts about the peculiarities of traveling with Elves and the identity of a certain Captain, Ardhoniel thought of Thorin, and of his Company of Dwarves and one Hobbit – and her heart clenched painfully. She could recall their last interaction perfectly, the look of betrayal and disgust etched in her minds eye whenever she closed her eyes, breaking her heart over and over.

From the very beginning, she had respected Thorin, even when she could not like him. Part of her had just wanted to earn his respect in turn. For a short moment, by the stream behind the House of Beorn, she had thought that she had finally earned it; that they had moved beyond the prejudices, the hatred, and the distrust at long last. For a moment she had thought that they might have come to an understanding.

What hurt the most was perhaps not his dismissal of her after she had told him the truth, but the way he had so easily admitted that he had never cared for her. Why that fact hurt her so, the Elleth did not know, but she found her thoughts of Thorin caused her heart to ache. She no longer had any hopes of ever seeing the Dwarf again, but she hoped that at least one day, he would think better of her.

* * *

In the meantime, Bilbo was all but ready to simply step up to Thranduil and ask him for the keys to the dungeons. He was no closer to finding a way to break the Dwarves out of their cells, apart from the overdue realization that the feast had been the ideal moment to execute any sort of attempt at escape. Moreover, he had not had a decent sleep nor a proper meal ever since Ardhoniel had left, and it was starting to take a toll on his mental capacity. He knew he could not give up, however, for with the She-Elf gone, he was their only hope of making it to Erebor in time.

* * *

The company of Elves reached the western edge of the forest on the seventh day, where they parted from the Elves of Mirkwood with little emotion. Captain Aglaron announced they would continue until they passed the land of Beorn, and Ardhoniel found she was somewhat disappointed she would not see the Shape-Shifter; it would have been nice to see a friendly face after all this time.

Instead, they walked the remainder of the day and the better half of the next, until they reached a familiar landmark. Seeing the eyot again brought back many memories, and Ardhoniel halted as she gazed up at the stony structure. Here she had landed after having ridden one of the Giant Eagles, after having saved Ori, after facing off against Goblins, Wargs and Orcs. Here Thorin had almost died.

Looking back, she hardly remembered why she had brought him those herbs that day, but in hindsight could mark it as their very first interaction that was not fuelled by spite from either of their sides – and her feelings towards the Dwarven King had warmed. One of the guards, Rínel she thought was her name, called for her to keep up, and Ardhoniel quickly averted her gaze from the eyot.

That evening they camped at the Old Ford. As was their routine by now, the Elves quickly set out to finish their duties, leaving Ardhoniel to sit on a flattened rock in the middle of all the bustle. Soon after, a fire was crackling, a stew was cooking, and the Lothlórien Elves were settled around her. There was some friendly chatting around her as the food was dispatched, but overall the guards kept quiet – and not for the first time Ardhoniel found herself wondering if traveling with Elves had always been so irritatingly dull.

When she lay down for the night, she could not sleep despite the many hours spent on the road. Instead, Ardhoniel found herself gazing up at the clear sky and the lights that dotted the inky canvas; the familiar swirls and patches that formed the constellations, the crescent shape of the moon. The stars had always made her feel connected to the universe, but now they only caused her to feel small and alone. Before these gloomy thoughts could carry her away, there was a soft melodious humming across camp that drew her attention.

The tune was a familiar hymn dedicated to Elbereth, the Lady of the Stars, often sung to her by Celebrían when she was but a child, and Ardhoniel found herself unwillingly sitting up to look for the source. To say she was surprised to find it was Captain Aglaron who was humming softly as he cleaned his dagger would be a lie, for much like his appearance, there was something strangely familiar about his voice.

Glancing around, Ardhoniel found all of the other Elves were already asleep, which made her conclude that she must have lain awake longer than she thought. Standing, she carefully made her way over to him.

The melodious sound was abruptly cut off when Aglaron noticed her approach. 'Is something wrong, my Lady?' He inquired, though he did not look up from his dagger.

'I could not sleep,' she answered softly, her eyes trained on the soft lines of the Ellon's face. Her hand ached to reach out, convinced that only if she could touch him, her memory of him would return. 'May I sit with you, Captain?'

'If you wish.'

They sat in silence for a moment and Ardhoniel noted that the Captain's movements on the dagger had halted. In fact, he had grown awfully rigid ever since she had addressed him – once more confirming her belief that he held some form of dislike for her. Before she well knew it and could do anything to constrain herself, Ardhoniel found herself saying, 'I wonder, what is your problem with me, Captain?'

'Excuse me, my Lady?'

'From the very first moment, you have scarcely said a word to me, even going actively out of your way to avoid me. I am not blind, Captain.'

It took him a moment to respond. When he did, he met her eyes for the first time and the fire that burned in those blue eyes belied his next words, 'It is not my place nor my duty to speak with you, my Lady; I am but a lowly Captain and it is my duty... my _sole_ duty to see you to Caras Galadhon safely.'

Ardhoniel dropped her eyes from his, unable to deal with the strong emotions in them that so clearly contradicted his civil words, and took in the dagger that now lay forgotten in his lap. Intrigued, her blonde brows knitted as she leaned in to observe the weapon more closely. Gold-inlaid hilt, curved two-edged blade, Quenyan words that were carved in one side of the blade. Quite unconsciously, her fingers had gone to retrieve the dagger from her boot and placed it in her lap, eyes still trained on the identical weapon that lay beside it. She let out a audible gasp as the dots finally connected in her mind.

'Glar, you are Glar!' Ardhoniel clapped a hand in front of her mouth, then continued more silent, but no less astonished, 'I simply cannot believe it is you, I hardly recognised you! You were but a small, snotty brat when we were in that weaponry class together for two seasons. How interesting that you eventually ended up a Captain.'

'Interesting? You…-' He cut himself off at this point and pinched the bridge of his straight nose as he breathed in deeply. 'I apologize, it is not my place. Go to bed, my Lady, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.'

'Aglaron, I don't…-'

'It is nothing – nothing you need to inconvenience yourself with, my Lady.'

Recognising the finality in this tone, Ardhoniel reluctantly stood from her seat and tucked the dagger back into her boot. When she returned to her bedroll, it was with more questions and only very few answers. Whatever it was, she vowed to get the truth out of the Captain before the end of their travels together.

~ A Elbereth Gilthoniel = O Elbereth (Varda) Starkindler (first line of the Elvish hymn to Varda)


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's Note: Happy new year to you all! May 2018 be the year all your dreams come true! A big thank you to** _ **Guest45**_ **for their review! Now, on with the story!**

* * *

 **Chapter twenty-five: Loud maiden**

It had been a long time since she had thought of the years she had spent in Lothlórien as an Elfling. When Celebrían had still been alive, they would often visit the Lady's former home; Ardhoniel had fond memories of running through the many gardens of Caras Galadhon, racing from flet to flet with the local children, and swimming in the natural pools that lay just beyond the city borders.

In one of her moments of childish folly and extreme hard-headedness, she had decided she'd wanted to be a warrior and so Celebrían, who had had the foresight to not waste too much resources on what was going to be just another passing fancy, had signed her up for a weaponry class with some of the local youth.

As her mother had predicted, soon the initial thrill of wielding weapons – most of which were just wooden replicas – wore off and boredom had set in. And so, to pass the time and to make herself feel a little better about once again being bested at something, she had started playing jokes. Most of the time, the victim of her little pranks had been her weaponry teacher, Master Orophin, but at times she had also targeted the other children.

At times, she would offer to collect the arrows just to move the practice targets back by a couple of feet each round. Then, at others, she would remove the fletchings from the arrows and put them in the backs of the tunics of the other students when they were not looking. She even remembered once arriving at the crack of dawn to steal Orophin's large practice sword and replace it with a much smaller one. She remembered he had been particularly angry about that prank, and so she had blamed it on Aglaron, who'd happened to be closest by at the time. With her record for causing trouble, however, she hardly believed it to have been believable in hindsight.

Needless to say, she had spent about as much time on her training as on her pranks, and at the end of the second year, she had accepted her dagger with the rest of the youth – and had then run off to become a Healer for the next half a year.

Despite her own restlessness – and perhaps because of it – she had always enjoyed the tranquil beauty of Lothlórien. However, when Celebrían had died, so had any desire to be in the city her mother had so dearly loved. Ardhoniel had not returned there ever since.

Up until now, she had not really considered the destination of their journey – pushing it ahead as she clung to the past. Yet, she had no doubt there had to be a reason behind her returning to the Golden Wood after all these years; more than just the safety of the roads. However, Ardhoniel had little hope of finding it out what that reason may be, as the one person with access to such knowledge proved to be the one person that was avoiding her presence like the plague.

Despite her vows, Ardhoniel had no luck in finding out more about the mysterious Captain Aglaron, as he proved to be quite resistant to her many attempts at making polite conversation. In fact, it appeared that with each attempt she made at pleasantries, the Ellon became more closed-off – up to the point where he had gone as far as instruct one of the guards to keep her company (of course all for her own good, for he "did not wish for the Lady to feel lonely").

The guard in question, it turned out, had only been assigned to her post two years ago, and the current mission was her very first journey outside of the woods of Lothlórien. As a consequence, she was inherently curious about anything and everything; most particularly about Ardhoniel's travels with the Dwarves of Erebor it soon became evident, once Ardhoniel assured her it was all right to ask questions. In hindsight, she almost wished she hadn't, if only because some of the topics the young Elleth touched on were still very sore.

'Is it true Dwarves do not wash themselves?' Bruihel inquired on one of the following days, as they stopped by the banks of the Anduin for lunch and a chance of freshening up.

'It is not,' Ardhoniel negated before she splashed some cool water in her face. Then, she continued with a contemplative frown, 'Although I think it is fair to say they definitely care less for personal hygiene than we do. Or for privacy for that matter. I recall the maids in Imladris whispering about catching them bathing in one of the fountains… naked.' Looking from the corner of her eye, Ardhoniel was pleased to see the younger Elleth's ears had turned red in scandalisation, her mouth hanging slightly open. She could just imagine Bofur's boisterous laugh at the sight.

'Of course, while I was with them, they were always quite _covered_ ,' she hastily added, before the young female's mind could run away with this new information. At the same time, her own mind returned to the one occasion in which she had found Thorin in not so covered a state.

Although Elves generally feel no shame about their own body, they do not flaunt it either, and so Ardhoniel had only ever seen the naked torso of Elladan and Elrohir when they'd been put up to the task of bathing her when she was still a very small Elfling. That being as it was, Ardhoniel had little in ways of comparison, yet she remembered feeling, among the chaos of all else that had been going on at the time, pulled in by Thorin's… physical appeal.

Looking back, she supposed he had always held a certain attractiveness, even with his clothes on – and she found herself immensely glad for not realising it until now. If there was one thing that could have complicated their relationship even further, it would have been her ogling the grouchy Dwarven King.

* * *

When the sun began to set, camp was set up in the usual fashion, and so with little else to do, she drifted off towards the river bank to fill her water skin.  
As she straightened, Ardhoniel gazed out across the water. On the other side, there was a large grove that grew up to about thirteen feet from the river bank, the sinking sun allowing the trees to throw a long shadow over the water slowly rushing by.

There was a natural crossing and the current was not so strong as it had been up-stream, and she considered offering to hunt for some fresh meat. Truth be told, however, she already knew the answer and so, after checking the stop on her skin, Ardhoniel returned to the camp.

After getting a portion of the evening meal, Bruihel settled on the ground next to her. She sipped from her spoon carefully for a bit, then when it was apparently to her taste, she started spooning the food into her mouth. It was the longest Ardhoniel had ever known the young Elleth to be silent.

In contrast, Ardhoniel had still hardly touched her dinner, her gaze – not for the first time – drawn to Captain Aglaron as he collected his own bowl.

'He doesn't seem to like you much either.'

Bruihel looked confused for a moment, 'Who, Aglaron? What makes you say that?'

'He appointed you as my nanny; that must mean you have done something wrong in his eyes.'

Bruihel surprised her by shrugging her shoulders, before taking another spoonful of stew. 'I am the most inexperienced among the company, there is no shame in that. Everyone has their own duty and I think it makes sense I was the one who got to watch you.'

Overthinking her words, Ardhoniel was surprised by their wisdom. Before she could continue her line of questioning about a certain Captain, Bruihel stood from her spot, dusting off her breeches.

'That being said, I do need to help with the dishes; being the youngest and all. Anyways, you get some rest. It's another two days until we reach the northern border of the Golden Wood; you will need your strength.'

* * *

Thorin had been leaning his head against his pulled up knees, mind desperately trying to recall how much days had passed since they had arrived – how much days had been wasted in this dark place – when two guards stopped in front of his cell. To say he was surprised would have been a lie, for he knew the Elven King would try to break him again sooner or later, so when they opened the door and informed him that Thranduil wished to speak to him, he simply nodded. As they traversed the many stairs and hallways to the throne room, the Dwarf quietly relished in the feeling of getting to stretch his legs again; they had grown stiff and sore in the small confinements of his cell. He did not want to think about what that meant for the remainder of their journey – and instead found himself inadvertently hoping that there would still be one.

When they arrived at the throne room, Thranduil was already seated – his equally arrogant son for once nowhere in sight. 'You may leave,' the Elven King directed the guards once they had guided Thorin to the base of the throne.

Once they were alone, he continued, 'Many days have passed since last we met, Thorin Oakenshield. Summer is fading and still you are here, in my dungeons, unwilling to accept my offer of help. I wonder why that is.'

Thorin did not grace him with an answer, instead raising his chin slightly and looking to one side.

Much to his aggravation, Thranduil rose from his throne, drawing nearer and circling him like a vulture. Despite knowing that such fears were preposterous, for a moment he felt like the Elven King was trying to look into his mind.

'Her betrayal has hurt you, more than just because of your wounded pride.' Thranduil stated from behind him, then, from even closer to his ear, 'You cared for her, did you not?'

Thorin stiffened at his words, gritting his teeth. 'Do not speak to me of betrayal, you who turned your back on my people when they came to you for help! _Abrâfu shaikmashâz_!'

Just like that, his arms were clasped tightly by two new guards that had seemingly appeared out of thin air. While vainly struggling against their grip, Thranduil stepped in front of him, his face dangerously cold as his eyes locked with his.

'I have been very courteous to you and your company so far, Thorin Oakenshield. Given you food, drink, a place to sleep on. I wonder what deprivation of such luxuries would do to your company; what they might be willing to tell me in exchange for a bit of food or a sip of water. Think about that the next time you choose to insult me in my own halls.'

With those words still echoing between the high walls of the throne room, Thorin was dragged away.

* * *

A hand on her shoulders shook her violently and as Ardhoniel came to, it was to the sound of loud shouting. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she recognised Bruihel sitting on her haunches in front of her. 'Get up, quickly!'

'Wha- What is going on?' She said, as she got to her feet somewhat dazedly. The moon was still high in the sky, and most of the company was by the river side, fighting against what appeared to be grim shadows.

'Wolves,' Bruihel responded simply, the word causing Ardhoniel's neck hair to stand on end. 'They crossed the river and surprised Rínel, who was on guard.'

Looking around her, Ardhoniel spotted the sole dark-haired Elf in the company. She sat but a few feet away, one hand holding a rapidly reddening cloth to her upper arm as she stared off towards the battle. Wounded arm hanging limply by her side.

'… under control, but we need to move.'

'Is she going to be all right?'

'Yes, yes, she will be fine, it is but a flesh wound. Now hurry, grab your bow and let's go!'

'But we need to help them!'

'No,' Bruihel insisted, her voice stern as she thrust the bow into the other Elleth's hands. 'Aglaron will handle it. I was ordered to get you out of here; now come on!'

Her mind finally catching up to the situation at hand, Ardhoniel slung the bow around her back and grabbed her half-packed rucksack before the duo disappeared silently, and quite easily against the loud backdrop of battle, into the night.

~ Abrâfu shaikmashâz! = You descendant of rats!

* * *

 **Author's Note: A small note on the title of this chapter: "Loud maiden". This is both in reference to Ardhoniel when she was younger (and perhaps still is) and to Bruihel, whose name literally means Loud/Noisy maiden. I think the two show some similarities, but also diverge on very important points. What are your thoughts?**


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note: Hello all! I hope you've all survived the first week of January and have started 2018 in a good way. For last week's chapter, I received not one but two very lovely reviews; a big thank you to _Ariel-Sarina-Jen_ and _Guest45_ for this! I am very glad to hear you are still enjoying the story so much. This week's chapter contains two very important conversations; one that I hope will clear at least some things up. Now, on with the story and don't forget to tell me what you think!**

* * *

 **Chapter twenty-six: A long-expected conversation**

They travelled for two days without rest, stopping only once to fill up their water skins on the second morning, until their eyes met with a wall of silver trunks and pale green leaves. The Ellith all but ran the last few hundreds of feet to the safety of the wood.

Ever since the encounter with the wolves and their separation from the remainder of the company, Ardhoniel and Bruihel had not run into any trouble. The road had been quiet and they had seen naught but a few foxes and a couple of hares, yet neither of them had felt at ease – and so it was wordlessly decided they would walk through night. For her part, the wolves reminded Ardhoniel a little too much of her very close encounter with the Pale Orc and the Wargs, and the near-death experience that had followed it. At the time, she had had no time to be scared, but in hindsight she suspected that it might also have had something to do with the Dwarves; their presence had made her feel safe even in the face of danger.

On the road with nothing but a newly-assigned guard who most likely had seen less than half the winters she had, she felt all but safe. Ardhoniel did not know what the wolf attack meant – didn't even want to consider that it was somehow connected her presence in the Quest for Erebor – but she knew that if it had caught the whole company off-guard, the two of them would stand little chance on their own.

Bruihel, for her own part, was similarly relieved when she stepped back beneath the familiar security of the mallorn trees, but the sentiment was mixed with a growing sense of worry. Despite her air of certainty and confidence towards the Lady, she too had been uneasy with leaving the remainder of the company behind in the heat of battle. With leaving Aglaron behind. She could only pray to the Valar he would be all right.

Night was already falling when they stepped under the canopy which, if one looked up at it from below, shined silver against the darkening sky. Neither Ardhoniel nor Bruihel looked up, however, as they rushed through the quiet forest. They followed the river for another two hours, before at last they left the Anduin behind them and ventured deeper into the sleeping forest.

As an Elf – and the granddaughter of Galadriel no less – Ardhoniel had never believed the stories of Dwarves and Men about the Elf-Witch of the Golden Wood that ensnared unwitting travellers. Indeed, as a child she had often scoffed at so preposterous an idea. As she grew older, however, it became plain to her that the forest was protected by some kind of magic, far more powerful than her home in Imladris.

The leaves of the mellyrn did not fall in winter, the animals did not scare at the passing of travellers, and for all intents and purposes it was as if the forest of Lothlórien was frozen in time; a constant haven of safety and beauty in an ever changing and darkening world.

As she was considering this, Ardhoniel could not pinpoint the exact moment the six grey cloaked and hooded figures had stepped out of the treeline and had surrounded them. Before she had time to grab for her weapon – and notice that Bruihel made no move to get hers – one of the figures raised a hand and lifted his hood, revealing a head of fair blonde hair and a not altogether unfamiliar, stern face.

'Haldir,' Bruihel addressed him with a small nod of her head.

He bowed his head in return, then his blue eyes came to rest on Ardhoniel for a moment. 'Where is the rest of the company?'

'We were attacked, Aglaron sent me along with the Lady.'

Then you must travel to Caras Garadhon quickly. Ever is evil trying to gain a foothold in this world; the forest is not safe for two at night. I will send someone with you to keep you safe.'

'I am not leaving without the remainder of the company,' Bruihel responded, her voice firm even as she gazed up at her superior. 'Please, Haldir, I cannot leave without Aglaron.'

Haldir's stern expression did not falter, but something shifted behind his eyes and at last he nodded in concession. 'Very well, you may rest on our flet tonight. If Aglaron does not arrive by noon tomorrow, you will continue to Caras Galadhon without him.'

The young Elleth looked as if she wanted to object, but seemed to recall her place at last, as she simply said, 'Very well.'

As if on cue, the other five wardens removed their hoods, revealing more blonde hair and… one more somewhat familiar and one _very_ familiar face. Ardhoniel blushed at seeing her prior weapon teacher, quickly reverting her eyes to her boots. The last few days had had her encounter one too many ghosts from her past.

Soon, they proceeded their way through the trees, now guided by the marchwardens that turned out to be even duller travelling company than her own guards had been. When they stopped, it took Ardhoniel several moments to notice the silvery rope ladder. It ascended high into the air, until at last disappearing into the underside of a silvery wooden platform, which blended near perfectly with the trunk of the great mallorn.

One by one, they climbed up the ladder and onto the flet. It was not large, extending but seven feet in each direction, but it was broad enough to lie down and it was shielded and safe. At that moment, that was all that mattered to either Ardhoniel or Bruihel.

'Sleep now, we will watch for your company,' Haldir promised, and Ardhoniel hardly remembered laying down on the pale wood before sleep took her.

* * *

It was still early morning, the first rays of sunshine only just reaching down into the sleeping forest. Ardhoniel sat up, wondering what had awoken her, when she noticed Bruihel sitting up against a silver bough, head raised in attentiveness – and the sound of voicing drifting up from beneath them. Moments later, a first golden head appeared at the top of the rope ladder, then a second and soon the whole company was gathered on the flet; some with scrapes and bruises and the dark-haired Rínel with a make-shift bandage wrapped around her right upper arm, all looking exhausted, but alive.

Before Ardhoniel had any time to respond, Bruihel had risen from her place and had quite literally thrown herself around Captain Aglaron. While Ardhoniel looked on in surprise, the marchwardens had taken to looking after the wounds of the guards, cleaning and bandaging them until proper care could be provided by a Healer. Remembering herself, Ardhoniel stood and slowly meandered through the guards and wardens towards the Captain.

By now she noted, Bruihel had left to see to Rínel, which left her as the sole recipient of that scrutinizing gaze. Steeling herself, Ardhoniel forced herself to meet it head-on. 'I will be going down to the stream to freshen up. I can bring water up if you like.'

'You cannot. I don't have guards to spare and I cannot allow you to go alone... my Lady.'

'Cannot or will not?' She inquired, then, forcing down her annoyance, she continued, 'We are in the safety of the forest, I will not venture far. I shall be fine.'

Aglaron visibly gritted his teeth, before throwing his pack down onto the floor. Then, he moved towards the rope ladder, a short wave of his hand the only inclination he meant for her to join him.

As they made for the little stream she had seen at her arrival – Aglaron always two steps in front of her – Ardhoniel could not help but ask, 'I wonder why you insisted on coming here with me, Captain, when you dislike me so?'

For a moment, it appeared as if he would not answer her at all, but then she heard him sigh. 'Because it is my duty… no matter my own feelings on the matter.'

By now they had reached the little stream, the clear water rushing quietly past them. Sitting on her haunches, Ardhoniel splashed some of the cool liquid in her face, then proceeded to scrub her hands and face more diligently. When she looked up, she was surprised to find Aglaron had seated himself in the lush grass, sword discarded beside him and head tilted towards the first rays of sun with closed eyes. Now that she truly took the time to observe him, she noticed the Captain looked tired – and surely must be, if they had arrived here only hours after Bruihel and herself.

When she was properly washed and her water skin refilled, Ardhoniel dropped herself down in the grass a few feet away from him. The Elleth was silent for a moment, considering how to frame the question on her mind. 'The wolves,' she started slowly, the words still a jumbled mess in her mind. Yet, it was more than that. There was a part of her that was almost afraid to hear the answer to the question, of the possibility that it may not have been coincidence that had brought the wolves on their path.

'They were all slain,' Aglaron announced, then he opened one blue eye to look at her. 'But that is not what you were interested in, was it, my Lady?'

'I…,' she started, then fell silent as she considered his words. Before she could explain herself, however, Aglaron continued, almost like in an afterthought.

'Who would have thought that you would care about such trivial a thing as our lowly lives.'

She looked down at him, eyes knitted in indignation at his insinuation. 'Do you believe I was not worried about the company; that I did not feel conflicted about leaving you behind? Of course I care!'

'I recall you caring little when you let me take the brunt of your misbehaviour.'

'We were children then; it was but a silly game!'

'It may have been for you,' Aglaron bellowed at last, jumping to his feet as he did so. 'Contrary to you, I was in that class because I had no other options, because I had to provide for my sister when my father was slain and my mother died of grief soon after; I was all that Bruihel had left. And you nearly got me kicked out of that weaponry class because of a silly game!'

Blanching, Ardhoniel stammered, 'Aglaron, I… I am sorry, I didn't know.'

'Of course you didn't,' he scoffed, 'For you it was all a joke, a silly game to keep _my Lady_ entertained; not all of us were so fortunate.'

Aglaron turned, storming back in the direction of the camp. 'And if you were wondering, the wolves were not connected to your little adventure with the Dwarves.'

* * *

Kíli looked up from his daydreams when the sound of soft footsteps on stone reached his ear, signalling someone's arrival in the dungeons. It must be somewhere late at night he surmised – although time meant little when one was trapped in a dungeon – and so the young Dwarf was not surprised when he recognised the red-haired Elven Captain sitting down on the stairs. Tauriel, he had heard her being called; the lady from his dreams. However, where in his dreams he had wanted to kiss her, now the expression she bore only made him wish to comfort her.

Drawn in, he moved closer to the door, 'What ails you, milady?' He called out, loud enough to be heard but soft enough so that he would not wake the others.

Her fair head turned up at the sound of his voice, shoulders automatically straightening and her expression going blank. A second passed before she responded, 'And what is it to you, Dwarf?'

Kíli held up his hands in surrender, but was encouraged to carry on by the vulnerability in the green eyes in an otherwise hardened face. 'I simply noticed you looked saddened, that is all. Talking helps – or so I have been told.'

Her face betrayed her surprise – and curiosity – yet even then Kíli had not really expected her to explain herself. 'It is the day of my parents' death.'

'I apologize,' Kíli said hastily. 'I did not mean to pry.'

'It happened long ago; it hardly bothers me most days.'

He was reminded of a similar occasion many days ago, with a different female Elf. Not wishing for this conversation to end the same way it had then, he continued, carefully, 'What happened, if I may ask?'

'They were guards, like me. Both of them died in one of the Orc attacks on the Realm.' Her words hung between them for a moment and when her eyes found his again, there was pain there, but also anger. 'Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it; we are still fighting the same evils.'

Kíli was silent for a moment, at a loss of what to say to make it better. He himself had been a young Dwarfling when his father died, too young to truly have any memory of the Dwarf. Sometimes he fancied to think he remembered a flash of blonde hair, or a twinkle of brown eyes, but he was not sure if they were truly memories, or simply images his own mind had conjured. As it was, he had little experience with death of family, or even death in general. When it came to diplomatic words, he usually left the talking to Fíli, who always seemed to know what to say. 'We… Dwarves I mean, honour our beloved dead by remembering them for the virtues in life; for the battles they fought rather than the battles in which they fought. That way, their sacrifices are not in vain.'

The She-Elf did not respond, but Kíli noticed that a soft smile had found its way to her lips – and found the ache in his own heart lessen slightly. Soon, she got up from her seat on the stairs, dusting off her green uniform as she gazed off into the distance. 'I think I will leave the guards to their work.' She turned, ready to head back up the stairs, when she stopped and smiled softly at him from over her shoulder, 'Thank you… Kíli.'

~ mellyrn = plural of mallorn


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Note: Chapter 27 already, it's going so fast! I want to thank _Guest45,_ _PrimusNobility_ and _Anonymouse301_ for their lovely reviews; they made me so happy I showed them to everyone who wanted to see it (and also to some people who didn't). I was so flattered :). About this chapter; I wanted to put in a lot of exciting stuff, but because it was getting rather long, decided to cut it in two. Anyways, enjoy the capter!**

* * *

 **Chapter twenty-seven: Melly(r)n**

The company had a quick lunch on the flet consisting of Lembas bread and freshly picked berries, then descended back to the forest floor. Well wishes were exchanged with the marchwardens – far more amiably than with the guards from Mirkwood, dare I say – and then they continued on the last part of their journey.

It was spent mostly in silence, many of the guards still feeling the strain of the fight in their weary limbs and even Bruihel not feeling quite like her chatty self. It could therefore be considered to be a sight for sore eyes, when Caras Galadhon finally came into view, illuminated by the light of the setting sun.

Out of all of them, it was Ardhoniel who was most enchanted by the sight. Many years had passed since her last visit to the great Elven city and although her memory was sharp, she did not remember ever finding it so impressive. The city itself was circular, stretching out for almost 3000 feet from one side to the other. There was only one entrance, Ardhoniel knew, which was situated on the southern border, and could only be accessed via a small bridge spanning over the Deep Fosse. Most of the winded roads and paths that lay at the base of the great mallorn trees were shielded from sight by the great wall of green dirt that surrounded the city, yet of course the real spectacle was to be found in those very trees. The great mallorn trees grew as tall as mountains, their thick branches heavy with silvery leaves and supporting the weight of many delicately built structures. In one of them, Ardhoniel realised uneasily, the Lord and Lady of the Wood would be awaiting her arrival.

It took them another hour and a half to reach the southern gate, and by this point the sun had fully set and the city was illuminated by a thousand lanterns. At the gate, they were greeted by two Ellyn, both garbed in the same armour as Aglaron and his company.

'The Lord and Lady of the Wood welcome you back into the city,' the first pronounced solemnly, 'I will now escort you to the House of Healing, where beds have been prepared for the night.'

As they were led across the stone paths, Ardhoniel did not know whether to be relieved that the, without a doubt, uncomfortable meeting with her grandparents was delayed, or distressed because that meant she would now have all night to ruminate about it. Before she had more time to consider the matter, they were led up one of the many winded, seemingly endless staircases.

When they reached the top, Ardhoniel found herself on the doorstep of a large open room with twelve beds neatly placed against the walls. Two of them were already taken by a pair of guards, that were being treated by two male Healers in crème coloured robes. As they entered, a tall Elleth with a stern face and golden hair piled on top of her head came gliding in their direction. The moment her practiced eye fell on Rínel, she tutted disapprovingly.

'I should not have expected otherwise,' she sighed, shaking her head as she assessed the state of the others. 'Off to a bed, all of you – you too, Captain, don't think I did not see you roll your eyes! You are not getting a wink of sleep until I say so!'

When she had seen to it that all of the guards had taken their place on the beds, she turned to Ardhoniel, who had taken a seat on the nearest. 'Welcome back, my Lady. My name is Saeleth, Head Healer. Please sit still for a moment while I assess you.'

'Oh I am quite well I assure you,' Ardhoniel said, leaning away from the Elleth's hands just as the Healer reached out for her face.

Grabbing her hand, Saeleth inspected the scarring on her palm, her only physical reminder of her near-fall – and incidentally, her time with Thorin Oakenshield and Company as a whole. 'Do not think that I will let you off easily just because you are of noble birth, my Lady. But you appear to be healthy overall, apart from some tiredness. I will instruct one of my apprentices to bring you a sleeping draught,' she concluded, then she turned to the bed beside hers, 'and some salve for that scar.'

Once again left alone to her own thoughts, Ardhoniel proceeded to kick off her boots and pull her legs onto the bed. Around her, the room was filled with the disapproving chatter of many of the Healers as they saw to their patients, the practiced movements of their experienced hands, and low noises of pain from some of the guards. Among the chaos, however, her eyes somehow found Captain Aglaron.

He was on the other end of the room, being treated by one of the male Healers she had spotted when they had first entered. At that particular moment, the latter had just finished setting down Aglaron's golden breastplate, whom she noticed was now painfully holding onto a place at his side. Frowning, she realised that he too must have been injured in the attack, but had not said anything about it either when they arrived at the flet, when she had requested to go down to the stream, or during the entire walk to Caras Galadhon.

To distract herself from the growing guilt, Ardhoniel turned to Bruihel, who was seated on the bed beside hers – and had apparently also been deemed healthy enough. 'Why did you not tell me Aglaron was your brother?'

The younger Elleth simply shrugged her shoulders, slowly bringing her blue eyes – which Ardhoniel belatedly realised were so alike her brother's – to meet Ardhoniel's grey ones. 'Does it really matter? Besides,' she started, one corner of her mouth curling up, 'It would have been quite uncomfortable to break it to you after you shared your dislike of him with me, do you not think?'

This also brought a smile on Ardhoniel's face – the first one, in many days. 'I suppose it would have, yes.'

* * *

Bilbo was panting. He had been sneaking around the kitchens, hoping to be able to steal a lump of old bread from one of the shelves, when the until then quiet kitchen had suddenly burst out in a cacophony of noise.

'… even larger than last year,' bemoaned one of the Elves that entered. 'I don't even know how he suspects us to…'

'The feast will not happen for a few weeks, Túgon, we still have got plenty of time to…-'

'Oh and the wine! Surely the King wants wine for his fancy party. Where does he expect me to cook if the whole kitchen is filled with large barrels?!'

His hunger quite forgotten, Bilbo's attention was sparked – and an idea started forming in his head.

* * *

The following morning, Ardhoniel was woken by a gentle shaking of her arm. Opening her eyes reluctantly, she found Aglaron standing over her, completely dressed in his armour and a growing scowl on his face. 'The Lord and Lady of Lothlórien will see you now, my Lady.'

'Of course,' she hastened to say, quickly drawing back the covers and pushing her feet in the awaiting boots. As they left the House of Healing, Ardhoniel conspicuously tried to comb through her untidy hair.

The journey to the House of the Lord and Lady was a short one. Nevertheless, due to her mixed feelings regarding the Captain, she was all the more aware of him – and his own, less than amiable feelings towards her – as he walked beside her, making the silence that more laden. Therefore, when they finally arrived at the doors of the House of the Lord and Lady, Ardhoniel was more than ready to say her goodbyes to him, only to find him wordlessly opening the doors and leading her inside.

Any thoughts of Aglaron quickly fled her mind. If she had thought before that Lothlórien was frozen in time, its guardians were even more so. The Lord of the Galadhrim's grey eyes briefly met hers as she entered the room, the only sign on his passive face that he had even noticed her presence. As a child, she had classified his expression as one of resigned annoyance. Funnily enough, he had always been the one she was least scared off.

Despite her fair appearance, there was something about the Lady of Light that had never ceased to put her on edge; a shine in her youthful eyes that had betrayed her all-knowingness. Of course, there was also the added factor of the Lady being able to see inside her head.

'Welcome back, Ardhoniel, daughter of Elrond,' Celeborn spoke, his deep voice smooth like flowing water. Then, he turned to Aglaron, who had taken to stand two steps behind her. 'I commend you for your duty, Captain. I was informed your company experienced some trouble along the way?'

As Aglaron stepped forward, a voice filled Ardhoniel's head, drowning out all other sound. 'My heart sings at seeing you again, young one, yet I see clearly now that you are not the same Elfling that once ran through these halls.'

A soft, barely noticeable smile fled across the Lady's face, then her wise eyes fleetingly regarded Aglaron before coming back to rest on her granddaughter. 'Sometimes the truth is not what we wish to hear, but we need to hear it nonetheless.'

It was at this moment Captain Aglaron finished his explanation, and Ardhoniel frowned, 'My Lord and Lady, I thank you for your good care and generosity. Yet…-'

Galadriel held up one hand, 'Now is not the time for questions, my child. We will speak soon, once you are rested.'

* * *

She had just returned from a warm and much needed bath and had seated herself on the soft bed of the chamber she had been assigned. The room was, of course, very beautiful – even more so than her room in Mirkwood, if perhaps only because there were large windows set in each of the walls, letting in the cool night air. It reminded her of her own room back in Imladris which, with its large patio doors, had always been a perfect blend of indoor and outdoor.

A soft knock halted her inner musings, and Ardhoniel turned towards the door. When it opened, she could hardly believe her eyes.

The Elleth that stood in the doorway had barely changed at all since last she had seen her. She was older yes, with some of the soft lines of childhood having sharpened, but she still possessed the same sweet loveliness she had all those years ago. As it was, however, it appeared her childhood friend had not yet recognised her.

'Good evening, my Lady,' the Elleth said with her eyes averted to the ground, using her free hand to hold her dress as she curtsied. 'Healer Saeleth asked me to bring you this potion and salve; they are the same that were given to you last night. Will you be needing help with the administration?' As she asked this, the assistant Healer looked up, her seafoam coloured eyes widening as she did so. 'Ardhoniel?!'

'It is good to see you, too, Neneth,' she laughed, then padded the bed next to her when the other Elleth gave no sign of moving.

Dazedly, Neneth made her way over to the bed, putting the medicines quite absentmindedly on the bedside table. A second passed before she opened her mouth again. 'Is it really you? I didn't expect- I mean, I didn't…'

'It is me.'

'Well, then this certainly was…'

'Uncomfortable?'

'Yes, well not… yes, uncomfortable,' she relented at last, then reached out and drew Ardhoniel in for a long hug. 'It has been so many years!'

'It has, look at you,' Ardhoniel laughed, holding the other Elleth at arm's length. 'You are absolutely lovely!' And she was. Her long silvery hair was braided back, revealing a soft jawline, full lips, and large, azure eyes. But then, Neneth had always – and quite obviously still did – possess a certain type of quiet beauty; the type which all recognised but herself. 'You have not changed one bit!'

Neneth huffed, but there was a playful smile on her full lips, 'Neither have you, my dear Ardhoniel… You are still just as much a tease as you were when we were children. It is a good thing, then, you did not follow through with your desire to become a Healer. Saeleth would not have liked you one bit.'

'And it is a good thing, then, that you did! Indeed, I cannot say I am surprised you became a Healer.'

'Assistant Healer,' Neneth corrected her, heaving a deep sigh, 'I still have many more years to go until I may call myself a Healer. But, please, do tell me how you winded up back in Caras Galadhon, my friend!'

And so she did. They spoke for many hours that night, of dragons and dungeons, of haughty Elven Kings and headstrong Dwarven Kings, and of everything and nothing else that came to mind.

* * *

It must have been late at night, but Thorin could not find rest. Not for the first time, his mind had wandered to the world outside, acutely aware of the time ticking by. Summer must by now be slowly drawing to an end – and with it, Durin's Day drew ever nearer. At the same time, Thranduil had still shown no signs of planning on releasing the Company anytime soon, and Thorin's hope for the Hobbit to break them out was slowly waning. To take his mind off of these distressing thoughts, Thorin tuned in on the conversation taking place just down the hallway.

It had not been the first time the red-haired Elf had sat down on those stairs, nor was it even the first time she had talked to his youngest sisters-son. Thus far, she had not once asked about the real reason for their presence in Mirkwood, and so Thorin had said nothing, hoping that maybe through her they would be able to find another way out. As it was, however, the She-Elf, too, appeared to actively avoid discussing her own King – and Thorin was left to listen in on very mundane topics. The two spoke mostly of their experiences as warriors, childhood memories, and bantered about silly things such as who would win a shooting contest.

If Thorin hadn't known any better, he would have guessed them long-time friends rather than sworn enemies.

* * *

 **Author's Note: On this chapter's title: Mellyn is the plural of "mellon" (meaning "friend" of course (; ) and Mellyrn is the plural of "mallorn" (which are the trees in Lothlórien). Another fun fact, "Túgon" (the name of the Elf Bilbo heard complain) means "Fat male" which I thought fitting, as he is the cook.**


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note: Hi all, I hope you had a nice weekend! I wish to thank _Guest45_ for their review(s), you rock! I am afraid this chapter contains very little dialogue, so I hope it is not too boring; but please give me your honest opinion if it is! Now, enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter twenty-eight: The mirror**

Near a fortnight passed without event. Caras Galadhon was a peaceful place, large enough to wander around for hours without coming across anyone she may know, but small enough to never get truly lost. And so on many mornings, Ardhoniel did just that: wandering around the city, perusing the market stalls that were set out on the larger flets in the mallorn trees. Other mornings, when she found she had no desire for interaction, found her at the base of one of the mellyrn with a book. At noon, she would make her way up the House of Healing, where she would wait around aimlessly – quite to the Head Healer's aggravation – until Neneth would join her for lunch. Her afternoons were alternatively spent back against the base of her favourite mellorn, bathing in one of the pools just outside the city, or watching Bruihel at the training fields. Caras Galadhon was a safe haven, a place of beauty and serenity, and Ardhoniel may have considered her time there peaceful, were it not for the gnawing restlessness. Indeed, it was exactly that sentiment which found the Elleth wandering over to the training fields on that particular day at the close of summer.

In the safety of the Golden Wood, the passing of time was only a faint sensation, considered hardly of any importance to the immortal inhabitants of the forest. Yet for Ardhoniel, the passing of each day reminded her of the company of Dwarves and a Hobbit that she had left behind in Mirkwood. With no way of knowing their faiths, the Elleth had only her own mind – often making up the worst scenarios – to fill in the gaps.

Yet the restlessness she experienced was more than just her worries about the Company of Thorin Oakenshield – and yet may have everything to do with them. With nothing but time on her hands, and no tasks to be completed, it was difficult not to spent some of it on introspection.

Concerning her time with the Dwarves of Erebor and Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, she could honestly say that while she regretted the way it had ended, she certainly did not regret her decision to join. While it may not have been the adventure that would have proved her worth at last, the adventure that she had hoped for, it had certainly taught her so much more – not merely about the world, but also about its inhabitants; some so glaringly different from her that she may have never learned what she had in another way. Her only regret was hurting them in the process…

Inadvertently, this line of thought had led her to consider the second company she had travelled with, and the words of one Captain in particular. He had called her behaviour at the weaponry classes childish and silly – and of course he had been right, she knew in hindsight. When the initial thrill had worn off, she'd had little interest in learning how to fight, and had subsequently wasted little effort on the lessons. She had been a nuisance not only to her teacher but also to her fellow students, many of whom had not had the luxury of fooling around like she did.

But it was more than a disinterest that had fuelled her rebellious behaviour, and had not been limited to her weaponry class but had been present in many of her classes, she realised. Gifted with the same competitiveness and hard-headedness as her brothers and father, but little of their skill, Ardhoniel had from an early age onward needed to deal with the sensation of falling short. She had been tutored in politics and diplomatics, but had never measured up to Arwen. She had been taught how to use both bow and sword, but had never lasted more than a minute against either of her brothers when sparring. Even when she was not directly pitted against her siblings, Ardhoniel's childhood had been a series of moments of averageness. In this aspect, the weaponry classes in Lothlórien had been no different; nor had her shortly lived career as a Healer's apprentice, for that matter. And so her younger self had found another manner of getting recognition.

The pranks had mostly been innocent, and she could honestly say that she had never meant any harm to come to any of the victims. Yet now she was confronted with the reality that it almost had – and there was nothing she could do about it.

Looking up from her thoughts, her eyes met shortly with one of the very innocents that had taken the brunt for her silly actions in a misguided quest for attention. At the moment, he was taking Bruihel through a set of sequences, lips pressed but a soft gleam in his eyes as he regarded the younger Elleth. From a very early age, he had needed to step up and take care of his sister, had been the sole person that she could look to for protection. Ardhoniel averted her eyes in shame, but her thoughts would not be so easily silenced, for another, perhaps more profound, realisation had formed – one even more difficult to face.

For the first time since leaving home, Ardhoniel of Imladris considered the possibility that while many years had passed, she was still very much like the Elfling that had removed arrow fletchlings in a childish quest for recognition. She had left her home at the crack of dawn, poorly prepared and with nothing but a written note to inform her loved ones of her plans. She had lied and cheated her way into a Quest she had no reason to be on, except for her own selfish want of proving herself. As a result, the Company had not once, but twice been caught in a dangerous situation.

Thinking back on her last conversation with Thorin, Ardhoniel clearly remembered the disgust and disapproval in his expression – and found she finally understood both. Although it may never have been her intent to cause any of the Company harm, that was exactly what she had done.

* * *

'My Lady?'

The words were accompanied by a polite knock on the door, and Ardhoniel looked up from the book she had been attempting to read. Ever since her realisation out on the training fields that afternoon, she found it difficult to carry on as she'd normally have – felt it was almost wrong to act as if nothing had changed. Putting down her book, she straightened out the fabric of her dress. 'Come in.'

The door opened about halfway and in stepped Aglaron. By now, she was hardly surprised to see him appearing where she least expected him – and suspected her dear grandmother may have a hand in it.

'The Lady Galadriel requests your presence,' the Captain declared, his blue eyes fixed on a point somewhere over her right shoulder. He turned when she nodded somewhat dazedly, and was already down the first step of the stairs when she got up from the bed.

The way down the stairs and through the slumbering city was a quiet one, leaving Ardhoniel plenty of time to think. The Lady of the Wood had not attempted to speak to her once since her arrival and, had she been anyone else, Ardhoniel may have almost been tempted to think she'd simply forgotten. As it was, however, she had no doubt there was a reason for the wait, and a reason for her requesting Ardhoniel's presence now of all times.

They came to a stop in front of the Lady's gardens and Aglaron turned to her with an empty expression, 'This is where I shall leave you, I bid you good night.'

As he turned to leave, Ardhoniel took a step after him. 'Aglaron, wait! I… I wish to apologise for my behaviour, both many years ago and on these past few days.'

The Captain did not verbally respond, but Ardhoniel believed there was a small, barely noticeable nod of his golden head, before he continued his exit.

Alone once more, the Elleth took a deep breath before she descended the stone steps towards the inner gardens. It was here that she encountered the Lady of the Golden Wood, standing barefoot near a stone pillar with a silver basin placed on top of it.

It was not the first time Ardhoniel had seen the famed mirror of Galadriel, the water which could show both past, present and future. Yet, she had never had the chance to gaze into it – something she was now clearly invited to do, if the Lady's extended left arm was any indication.

Hesitantly, Ardhoniel closed the gap between herself and the magical object, both enraptured by and fearful of the possibilities it offered. When she stepped up to the pillar, her questioning eyes briefly met the Lady's, whose voice – calm and confident, yet gentle like the flowing of the Nimrodel – resounded in her head.

'You have many questions, young one. The mirror may give you the answers you seek.'

'And what if it does not?'

No answer came and when Ardhoniel gazed up once more, she noted Galadriel had taken a step back from the basin. Returning her eyes to the mirror, Ardhoniel steeled herself before she took a step forward, then another, until her head was immediately above the still water. Closing her eyes for a moment, she reminded herself this was exactly what she wanted. If she but knew what had happened to Thorin and his Company, she would be able to let go.

With this renewed resolve, the Elleth looked down into the water. At first, there was nothing, nothing but the sharp, stern features she knew so well. Frowning, Ardhoniel watched her reflection do the same, before all of a sudden the image blurred and the colours started shifting.

Where there had once been a reflection of her own pale face, there was now darkness – and Ardhoniel recognised the scenery as the dungeons of Mirkwood. There was Nori, quietly slumbering in his cell, and Dwalin, grumbling to himself as he shifted positions on his cot. Then the perspective changed and Ardhoniel got a look at the base of the stone staircase that led down into the dungeons, at the bottom of which sat an all-too-familiar red-haired Elleth. If the smile on her face was at all surprising, even more so was the fact that it was directed at Kíli, who was sat in front of his cell door and was seemingly talking amiably to her.

Before Ardhoniel had a chance to consider the timeline of these events, the image blurred and refocused to show a band of Orcs under foliage, headed by a great, Pale Orc. One of the creatures pointed down, and Ardhoniel followed its direction towards an opened gate near the base of a cave-like structure, from which flowed a wild stream carrying several wine barrels. Out of the top stuck several familiar Dwarven heads.

The image shifted again, Ardhoniel's breath was caught and her flesh was covered in goosebumps. Where there had been darkness, there was now near-blinding light. There was a stone structure, crumbling and scorched, set against a backdrop of mountain and snow. Bodies were strewn across the ground, red and black mingling with white, but it appeared whatever battle had taken place, it was now over. Her eye fell on a circle of figures that sat in front of the structure, on what appeared to be a frozen river. The image drew closer, and Ardhoniel recognised several of the bowed heads as they cried or shook their heads in disbelief. The image drew back, just enough to allow the Elleth a glance over their heads. She wished it hadn't.

Tears burned in her eyes as Ardhoniel pulled back from the silver basin, nearly stumbling down as she hastened to get as far away from the image as she could.

'Why did you show me this?!' She roared, as the tears ran down her face. 'It can't be!'

Galadriel did not appear to be affected by her outrage. Instead, the Lady of Wood regarded her calmly. 'Things have now been set into motion that cannot be undone, young one. Your decisions now may change the fates of many.'

'Then tell me what I should do. _Please_.'

The Lady's face softened somewhat, and when Ardhoniel blinked, Galadriel was suddenly right in front of her. Taking the younger Elleth's hand, the Lady's eyes found hers once more. 'I cannot tell you this, my dear child, no one can.' A small smile appeared on her lips, 'But I think you already know yourself.'


	29. Chapter 29

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! This chapter is a bit all over the place, because I'm trying to tie together multiple lines of narrative. With this piece out of the way, I think we are truly entering the final stage of this story (don't worry, you can still expect several chapters before we reach the ending!). Big thank you to _Guest45_ for their lovely review **– **as usual. You are the best! Enjoy the chapter and don't forget to review!**

* * *

 **Chapter twenty-nine: Flight**

Túgon sighed tiredly as he dropped himself down at the wooden table that sat in the disorganised mess that was now his kitchen. He and his apprentices had not slept at all that night, determined to get all of the food ready for _Mereth Nuin Giliath_. Exhausted, but pleased, the Ellon let his eye roam over their work: seventeen freshly baked breads, eleven different kinds of salads, five soups, three roasted meats, and, finally, four types of cheeses – not noticing that one bread and one rather thick slice of cheese had gone mysteriously missing since last his eye had passed over that particular area of the room.

'Bring me a cup of that fine Dorwinion wine, won't you Meluinir?'

The apprentice nodded somewhat hesitantly, taking a tin cup from the shelf and filling it at one of the nearest wine barrels. After handing the beverage to his master, the young Elf glanced over at the other apprentice, Colfinnor, before he directed his gaze back at the ground before the cook's feet. 'Is there anything else I can do for you, Master Túgon?'

Túgon finished his wine, then put the cup down with a clank on the table top. 'You wish to go to the party tonight, do you not?' The Ellon frowned at Meluinir, with far more disapproval than he actually felt. Ever since the two boys had first started their apprenticeship with him, he had grown quite fond of the pair, silly as they may be at times. Without waiting for an answer, he made a shooing gesture at Meluinir, 'Go, before I change my mind. And take Colfinnor with you, Valar know that I will grow mad if he falls asleep in my kitchen one more time.'

As the two hurried out of the kitchen, the older Elf called after them, 'I expect you both here tomorrow morning, not a minute late! And don't even think about boring me with stories about that party!' When the door closed behind them, Túgon sighed to himself. Regardless of his words, tomorrow was certain to be a long day for him. Looking towards the wine barrels, he considered having another cup of the excellent wine. He had earned it, after all.

* * *

Ardhoniel looked around her temporary room with a sense of finality. At her feet stood her backpack, all packed with her few belongings and enough rationing to last her several months, and on the bed lay her bow and a new quiver with arrows. They had been presented to her by Galadriel herself, not two days ago when the Lady had arrived unexpectedly on the doorstep of her room.

Ardhoniel had silently wondered why she presented her with the gift at that moment instead of on the day of her departure, but the Lady had only mysteriously alluded to a journey of her own. She had not seen or heard of her ever since.

Many days had passed since she had looked into the mirror of the Galadriel and witnessed the death of Thorin. August had turned to September and with each passing day, Ardhoniel's decision was solidified. If she turned her back now, she would regret that decision forever. Not only because she could have saved a friend, but because her heart ached painfully each time she considered the possibility that Thorin Oakenshield would fall. Although she dared not consider what that meant, she knew that she would fight to the death to save him.

Taking one last glance around the chamber, the Elleth hoisted her pack and quiver onto her back, and with her bow in hand started the descend to the forest floor.

When she arrived at the stables, she was unsurprised to find Neneth and Bruihel waiting for her – after all, she had informed them of her departure – but was more so by the presence of Aglaron – and the fact all three had a packed bag by their feet.

'I appreciate the fact you have all come to say your goodbyes,' she started curiously, walking into the circle of Elves, 'But I do believe this action will hardly leave you away from home long enough to require bags.'

'We are coming,' Bruihel announced without a hint of amusement in her voice.

'Absolutely not, I will not risk your lives.'

'It is not up for you to decide,' added Neneth calmly. 'We have all reached the age of maturity – and I for one, did so long before you, if I might add. You cannot deny us.'

'This is my quest, my responsibility. I do not know what awaits at the end of it.'

'We are your friends, of course we are coming along!'

At an end of what to do, Ardhoniel turned to the only Elf who had not yet spoken, the only Elf she knew was not here because of any warm feelings towards her. 'Aglaron, surely you do not agree with all of this?'

'Certainly not,' he affirmed, the frown on his face further emphasizing this point. 'However, I have found that Bruihel rarely cares about whether I agree or disagree. It will be much easier to keep her safe when I am with her. Besides, you will need at least one decent marksman if you want to save any of those Dwarves of yours.'

For once, Ardhoniel had no sharp comment to respond with. In truth, she did not know what to do. Of course, any help would only increase her very small chances of making a difference. Yet she did not know what awaited them at the end of their journey, and that scared her. If whatever battle that was about to take place would be bad enough to fell such an excellent and stout-hearted warrior as Thorin Oakenshield, what were the odds for them?

For perhaps the first time in her life, Ardhoniel truly realised this may be a journey she would not return from. Could she really lead others to that same faith?

'We are not asking for your permission, Ardhoniel,' Neneth repeated, as if reading her mind, 'You can either accept our help or fight it, but we are coming.' With those words, she reached down for her bag and disappeared into the stables.

'Quite right she is,' Bruihel nodded and left in the same direction. She opened the door, but not before she said, a smile playing at her lips. 'Though it would make everything a whole lot easier if you just accept it.'

Aglaron turned to follow his sister. He stopped halfway to the stables, not turning as he spoke, 'Your friends are loyal to you, my Lady. Make sure you are deserving of them.'

* * *

Thorin was quite miserable by the time Bilbo appeared in front of his cell door that night. So much so, in fact, that he even considered simply telling Thranduil all about his quest and his treasure, if only that would mean he and his kinsmen would finally be released from their dark and dismal prison. He had listened in on the conversations between Kíli and the She-Elf every evening; each time hoping that she would reveal anything at all that could help them escape, each time growing a little less hopeful when she did not. Thorin found there was very little else to put his hopes on, anymore.

From out of nowhere – quite like he himself had appeared – the Hobbit pulled a set of keys and unlocked the door to Thorin's cell. Seeing the question on the Dwarven King's lips, Bilbo shook his head. 'No time. This may be our only chance of escape.'

That was not a lie. Ever since the idea had first come to his mind, he had been working on it, trying to work out the details of how to lead a group of thirteen Dwarves – none who were all too silent – through Thranduil's palace, even when a feast was going on. The Hobbit had seen to it that the cook would be in a deep sleep by the time they would reach the kitchens, that they should pass through the hallways at the exact time the guards would be somewhere else on their rounds, and had stolen the keys off of the sleeping guard. The plan was perfect; now all they needed to do was execute it in the same manner.

After quickly releasing all Dwarves from their prisons, he turned to them, for once his expression void of any nervousness. 'We must stay together. And for goodness sake, please be quiet!'

Several of the Dwarves started to object to his latter comment, but were silenced by one fierce glare from their leader. Soon, they were ascending the stairs – as quietly as can be expected of thirteen Dwarves – and followed Bilbo through the deserted hallways. Somewhere off in the palace, they could hear the sound of merry music and chattering, but it sounded far-off and dulled, and that calmed their nerves somewhat.

Exactly following Bilbo's calculations, they arrived at the kitchens without any confrontations, and the Hobbit was about to sigh in relief when he remembered they were not quite there yet.

A hand was clapped over his shoulder, and the Hobbit looked up to find Thorin had come to his side. 'Gandalf spoke true after all,' the Dwarven King grinned, 'A fine burglar you make, Bilbo Baggins. But what comes next?'

The Hobbit shifted somewhat uncomfortably under his broad hand, before he met the awaiting faces of the Dwarves at last. 'There's a trapdoor, right there,' he pointed. 'It leads to an underground stream that joins with the Forest River some way further to the east.'

'You expect us to swim?' Dwalin called out incredulously, and as if in response, the sleeping cook let out a loud snore.

'No no, nothing of the sort,' Bilbo hushed the Dwarf quickly, looking around to make sure no one had been attracted to the noise. 'I've found another way; much safer… and dry!'

'Well, what is it?' Urged Dori.

Stepping over towards the trapdoor platform, Bilbo lay one hand on the surface of one of the large barrels. Then, he turned back to the Dwarves. 'The Elves trade wine with the men on the Lake. The empty barrels are sent back over the river.'

A moment of silence followed, in which the Dwarves processed his words. When the Hobbit's intention finally sank in, several frowns turned on the poor Hobbit. However, before any objections could be made, Thorin called, 'In the barrels, now!'

And so the Dwarves scurried to find a barrel, some having more problems than others to climb in. Bilbo noticed Kíli looking somewhat forlornly around for a moment, until his brother called him to attention, and he too clambered into a barrel.

Soon, the Dwarves were all safely tucked in, and it was not a moment too soon! Just as Bilbo pulled the lever that opened the trapdoor, the door to the kitchen opened. Still shielded from sight, Bilbo watched as one by one, the barrels filled with Dwarf fell into the underground stream, until at last he came to a rather upsetting conclusion. In all his plotting, the Hobbit had quite forgotten about one important aspect: himself. And so it was that he jumped down after the last barrel hit the water.

As you may remember, Hobbits have little love for water, and Bilbo was not any different. Sputtering, he pulled himself up on the barrel, only to be swept under by the strong current. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear shouting – of Dwarves or Elves, he did not know – but he could not make out the words. All he knew was that one minute the barrels had been bobbing against a closed portcullis, the next they were speeding forward down the wild river. It was only then that he noticed the Orcs on the riverbed.

* * *

Tauriel had only just returned to her room from an afternoon of training. She planned on bathing and dressing leisurely before she would join the feast. Although she loved dearly the light of the stars, she cared little to be spending time in the same room with her King.

A knock on her door interrupted the Captain's thoughts, and when she went to open it, she found one of the new recruits on her doorstep, panting heavily. 'The Dwarves, Captain. They have escaped!'

'Escaped?' She repeated, hardly registering the meaning of the message.

'In barrels, Captain. They are traveling down the river as we speak, hunted down by Orcs, but they are out of our reach now.'

That managed to get her attention, and Tauriel quickly swept over to retrieve her weapons from the bed. Striding passed the recruit, she made her way towards the gate. This was it, she realised. This was the moment that she would have to decide who she wanted to be. Hiding behind their walls, guarding the safety of the realm like her King, like her parents and so many more had before her. Or fighting for a world she believed in; a world that did not stop outside their doorstep. She thought of Kíli, and of the Lady Ardhoniel; and realised her decision had already been made.

She started running.

~ Mereth Nuin Giliath = Feast of Starlight


	30. Chapter 30

**Author's Note: We have reached chapter thirty, hooray! I wish to thank everyone who stuck with me up until this point, and a special thanks to _Guest45_ for reviewing last week's chapter as well as every other chapter. You are amazing and I love you! Regarding this chapter, I'm afraid it grew into something a bit morbid and I am very sorry for that. Still, enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter thirty: In pursuit**

The days on the road were uncomfortable and conditions harsh, and with the ever cooling evenings, not even their sleep went undisturbed – yet there was a sense of familiarity to it that Ardhoniel had not expected to feel. They had set off south from Caras Galadhon to where the Nimrodel fed back into the great Anduin. The group had followed the river for one and a half day, before they found a ford to cross the water. The land they had then entered was widely known as the Berennyr, or the Brown Lands, a region of barren wasteland. Once upon a time, many years ago, it was a place of greens and beauty, the home of the long-lost Entwives. But that had not been for an age.

As tuned to the workings of the earth as they were, none of the Elves felt at ease in those lands, and so it was an unspoken agreement among them that they would pass through the area as quick as possible. None of them slept well those three nights, and little was said during the days, and when they had at last reached the most south-eastern corner of Mirkwood, all were happy to leave the unsettling land behind them. That first evening they set up camp near the edge of the forest which, daunting as it was, still somehow was a relief to the Elves who had seen nothing but dirt and rock for several days.

With her mind no longer filled with a sense of dread brought on by the sickness of the land they walked on, Ardhoniel found herself remembering the words Aglaron had spoken to her on the day of their departure, and had the inexplicable feeling of being watched by the disapproving Ellon at every turn. That night she left quickly after setting up camp to gather firewood and fill their water skins at a small stream nearby – just like she had for every night of their journey. What was more, however, the Elleth realised she would have to tell them the truth about what she had seen in Galadriel's mirror sooner or later.

The images of that summer evening in Lothlórien still played through her mind every day, and especially in the nights when there would be no mindless chatter to chase away the creeping shadows. Some nights she would arrive too late to save him, other nights their eyes would meet across the frozen river, only for her to watch as he was stricken down by a faceless foe. On the lone night that she found herself by Thorin's side in time, she would at one point turn to the Dwarf to find his gaze already locked on her. He had opened his mouth as though to speak, but whatever he'd been about to say was cut off by a surge of blood. Looking down, she would find a thick blade plunged into his abdomen, her own hand on the handle.

Disturbing as the dreams were, Ardhoniel rationally knew they were just that. The snow she had seen in her vision would not fall for several months – and so she forced herself to keep hope. At least for now, Thorin was safe.

When she returned to the camp site, belt weighed down by water skins and arms heavy with firewood, the Elleth realised that it would have to be sooner. Dropping the firewood in the firepit and dispatching the water skins, she sat heavily between Bruihel, who was sharpening a stick to use as a cooking spit, and Neneth, who was in the middle of skinning a rabbit. During their time in the Berennyr their food stock had started to dwindle, for little but bare rock was to be found in those lands.

'Where has Aglaron gone?' She inquired, looking around for any sign of the stern Ellon. Unwillingly, Ardhoniel found herself slightly panicking when her gaze did not find the familiar frown.

'Scouting the parameters, my lady,' sounded his voice from right behind her – and Ardhoniel felt silly for worrying. 'I have checked the forest edge, but found no evidence of any wild animals.'

'Oh… good, thank you.' Uncomfortably, she watched as he sat himself down on Bruihel's other side. A moment of silence followed, and Ardhoniel gathered her scattered nerves. 'Now that we are truly underway, I suppose I should tell you what I've seen lies at the end of our path.' Her words were met with more silence, but it was a bated one, heavy with expectation. 'Before I can tell you about my vision, however, I should first tell you about the Dwarves and their Quest to reclaim their homeland.

'Thorin Oakenshield and his Company passed through Imladris in the early days of summer, seeking my father's advice on a map they could not read. On that map was disclosed the secret entrance to the lost Dwarven Kingdom of Erebor, to which Thorin is the rightful heir. I overheard my father speak of it to Mithrandir one day, and foolishly decided this was my chance to prove my worth.' Her voice had inadvertently lowered during this admission, her cheeks burning with shame as she peeked up through her eyelashes at Aglaron's unmoving face.

'Our travels brought us over the peaks of the Misty Mountains and through the depths of Goblin Town, where we were captured and a price was put on Thorin's head; to be collected by Azog the Defiler. We narrowly escaped, but with Azog and his Wargs snapping at our heels.'

She relayed to them how they had kept the Wargs at bay with blazing pinecones, to be saved at last by the arrival of the Giant Eagles. The three Elves listened on in wonder as Ardhoniel told them of their time at Beorn's House and of the giant bear-man himself. At last her tale brought them to the dark recesses of Mirkwood and to the treacherous Elven King that resided there. However, Thranduil's lies to learn the truth of their Quest were not her main concern. 'I fear Azog knows the Dwarves' true destination, and will not have the Dwarves reclaim the mountain without a fight.

'In my vision, I was standing on the field of battle, with a backdrop of mountain and snow. The battle was fought, but there was no victory song. Instead, I found myself drawn to a solemn gathering of people, their heads downturned and grief etched in their expressions, standing around the broken and lifeless body of their leader… their King.' Here she paused, overcome with emotion at finally speaking the horror of her vision out loud. Taking a deep breath and forcing back tears, she continued, 'I do not know whether the Dwarves will succeed in the reclaiming of the kingdom, whether the battle is won. But I know Thorin Oakenshield is the only rightful King of Erebor, and if there is only the smallest chance that I can save him, I shall take it.

'However, we have set out to a battle, but I do not know of its outcome. It is not too late to turn back; I would not begrudge any who make that decision.'

A moment of silence followed, before Bruihel ventured to ask, 'Is there not supposedly a live dragon lying dormant in the depths of that mountain?'

'There is also that, yes,' Ardhoniel said, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her circumstances. 'I have considered the matter and decided not too dwell to much on it. If there is to be a battle for the mountain, I can only assume the dragon is going to be dealt with.'

This answer seemed to satisfy the young Elleth, for Bruihel simply nodded in return. No one returned to Lothlórien that evening.

* * *

Tauriel peered carefully over the leaves of a small bush, sitting on her haunches uncomfortably, delicate digits fingering the fletching of a nocked Arrow.

For the past days, she had followed the tracks of the Dwarves and hunting Orcs down the riverbanks of the Forest River, their makers long gone. Judging from the abandoned and all but destroyed barrels she had found at the river mouth, the Elleth could only conclude that the Dwarves must have at least made it that far. However, apart from a dried patch of blood on a rock there was no telling what had happened to them afterwards. Had they been captured and killed by the Orc party? Had they been overcome by another, unforeseeable adversity? Tauriel had spotted footprints by the lake's edge – and could only hope that they had somehow found safe passage to the other side.

Not satisfied with this scarce information, she had retraced her steps back to the forest, to where she had last seen sign of the Dwarves' persecutors. Apparently they had not been able to keep up with the barrelled Dwarves, for after a pursuit of about seven miles, the tracks moved away from the river and into the thinning forest. This brought Tauriel hope, but as any good Captain, she would not trust hope until she was absolutely certain the Dwarves were safe.

She had followed the tracks deeper into the forest, careful of any traps the Orcs could have set. When she had located their camp, Tauriel squatted behind a bush and observed the group of about thirty Orcs.

In one of their many midnight conversations, Kíli had regaled her with (a rather animated account of) the story of their escape from Goblin Town, and the subsequent confrontation with Azog the Defiler. Noticing she was not familiar with the name, he had filled her in on the cruel Orc – and the history Kíli's family shared with him.

One of the Orcs in the camp had drawn her attention, bearing a strong resemblance to the Pale Orc from Kíli's tale. Thoughts of sending an arrow through its head came to her mind, and she smiled grimly at the idea.

And that is how she had found herself in her current position, bowstring drawn and eyes fixed on her target. With the setting of the sun, it would probably take them quite some time before they would figure out where the attack had originated from. By that time, she hoped to be long gone.

Lifting her bow cautiously, Tauriel stretched her right leg behind her, grounding herself. She pulled back the string, all the while keeping her focus on the Pale Orc sitting but several feet away from her, unaware of his imminent death. She was about to release the Arrow when a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder – and she nearly shot her best friend.

'I thought you were an Orc!' She angrily whispered to him, all the while willing her racing heart to calm down.

'If I were an Orc, you would be dead,' Legolas said, matter-of-factly, then his eyes turned on the Orc she had been seconds away from shooting, eyebrows pressed in a frown. 'He is their leader. If you shoot him, they will come after you.'

'They will not catch me.'

'And if they will?'

'Then I shall fight them. It has been too long since my blade has tasted Orc blood; I fear it may have gone rusty with disuse.'

His blue eyes met hers questioningly, concern gleaming in their deep grey depths. 'Tauriel, you have been my friend for near six hundred years, never have I known you to be careless.'

The Elleth glanced back at the Pale Orc – still drawing breath – and then her eyes returned to Legolas', realizing he was right. She had always prided herself on her ability to think logically and clearly in battle; now was not the time to steer from that path. Sighing, she returned the nocked arrow to her quiver, before asking, 'Did you find anything?'

'Nothing of use. From their waste I deduced this is not their night in this location, but that is all I could find,' he related, his nose scrunched up – either due to the unpleasant experience of having to examine Orc waste, or their lack of information, Tauriel did not know.

'Then what…-' She started, but a raised hand from the Ellon reduced her silence. Looking back at the Orc camp, she noticed the leader was now speaking, though of what, she did not know, for he was speaking in the Dark Tongue of Mordor.

After some time, Legolas turned to her, eyes wide in realization. 'The Orcs say the Dwarves travelled to Esgaroth by boat. They plan to follow them and attack by nightfall.'

'Then we must warn them.'

* * *

Later that evening, Bruihel and her brother had already retired for the night whilst Neneth took the first watch. Although vastly more comfortable on her bedroll than she had been for many nights in the Berennyr, Ardhoniel could not find rest that night. Discussing her vision with the others had brought about a whirlwind of thoughts in her mind, and she found it impossible to silence them. Somehow, the act of speaking out her worst fears had only resulted in making them more real. It was as if now that the world knew, it would do everything in its power to bring about the future that she had foreseen. But what was perhaps even worse, was that it made her consider for the first time since setting off from Lothlórien the folly of her actions.

With a sigh the Elleth sat up from her bedroll and moved towards the campfire. Warming her hands above the flames, she found herself wishing the warmth could reach her insides as well and dispel the shadows that lingered there.

'You appear troubled, my friend,' Neneth observed from across the fire, soft azure eyes meeting hers in question.

'I thought I would find rest after we left the Berennyr, but perhaps my body is not so easily comforted as my mind is by the change of scenery. The nights grow ever longer and colder, but perhaps a short time by the fire will ease my bones.'

Ardhoniel could sense Neneth was not convinced by her answer, but seemed to accept it for now. For half an hour, they lapsed into silence, disturbed only by the occasional neigh from one of the horses that stood grazing by the forest edge, and the soft breathing of the brother and sister that were sleeping peacefully to one side. They lay closely together, his hand only inches removed from hers, his body ready to come to her aid should she need it.

When she observed this, a sad smile curved Ardhoniel's lips, and she turned to her childhood friend who was similarly regarding the scene. 'I never wished for any of you to come along; to risk your lives.'

The silver-haired Elleth did not respond immediately. Instead, she moved from her perch on her rock to sit next to Ardhoniel, warm hands taking hold of one of her colder ones. 'The year after your last summer in Lothlórien, Healer Saeleth took me outside the forest to teach me about the ails and mortality of Men. We travelled south to the fields of Celebrant, where a great war had just been waged. A clash between Men from the East, North and South, for reasons that were unclear to me at the time, and hardly seemed to matter afterwards. In my understanding of them, Men will always fight one another for land, for property, or for power, caring little for those standing in their way.

'When we arrived the battle was all but over, but the fields were strewn with the bodies of the dead and dying. I can still remember the stale smell of the blood, the sounds of anguish that were carried on the winds. Worst of all, however, where those that could not die; the poor souls that cried for hours, sometimes days, for a release of the pain that was too much to live with, but too little to die from. No one came back for them, and I will never forget their agonised calls in the mist.

'There was nothing we could do for them, but I vowed that day that never again would I stand by as another soul suffers; never again would I leave them up to their faith. Not if I can help it.'

The Elleth fell silent, and gazing to her side, Ardhoniel took notice of her tear-streaked cheeks that sparkled in the light of the flames. Not knowing what to say – and knowing there was really nothing that she could say – Ardhoniel squeezed her hand comfortingly.

* * *

 **Author's Note: The battle Neneth speaks of is the Battle of the Field of Celebrant in the year of 2510 T.A., in which Easterlings known as the Balchoth waged war on Gondor, and Eorl the Young and his Éothéod rallied to the help of Gondor. For their assistance, Cirion the Steward of Gondor rewarded the Éothéod with a piece of land which later came to be known as the Kingdom of Rohan.**

 **With that History lesson behind us, I have a question for my dear readers. So far, this story has been a mixture of the books, movies, and of course my own "artistic liberty" as an fanfiction author. I feel however a bit conflicted about whether or not I should include or exclude Kíli's black arrow wound. I have my personal opinions about the affair, but would be interested in hearing your views on it. So please let me know what you think: should I include it or work around it?**


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter thirty-one: Where smoke is…**

'What is that?' Bruihel questioned, her voice laden with dread as she sat up from her bedroll.

All four of them were wide awake now, sitting or standing as they listened to what sounded like heavy drums emitting from the forest, vibrating through the ground beneath their feet. A few feet away, their horses stood shuffling, seemingly no longer bothered by the endless rain as they too eyed the looming forest with noticeable fear.

'It sounds like… footfalls,' Aglaron frowned, worry clearly etched into his fair countenance. 'Hundreds of fast-paced, heavy footfalls.'

No one spoke after that, listening to the odd symphony of the drum of the forest, the endless fall of rain, and the racing of their own hearts.

For the past few days, they had travelled north, keeping the forest edge at a safe distance to their left. The first three days had been uneventful and they were making good time; if all went well they would make it to the Long Lake by the month's end, long before even the first snowflakes would start falling. At the dawning of the fourth day, it had started raining – and would not fully cease until noon the next day. Despite Elves' overall resilience against the ever-changing weather of the world, it certainly did not mean they had to like the downpour. This particular group of Elves was no exception; by the time they were looking for a site to set up camp, all were more than happy to get out of the leather saddle. And so, despite their misgivings about Mirkwood, they had drifted closer to its edge.

As it was, the forest had done little to shield them from the rain, and when the morning came they were as wet as when they had stopped for the night – and considerably more worried. They had sat up together, arms at the ready and ears peaked for any sign that they were under attack. But the sounds did not come any closer and the attack never came, and for what felt like forever, they did nothing but wait. Then, as sudden as the drumming had started, silence again fell over the forest – and somehow that seemed was even worse. Needless to say, no one slept that night.

The lessening of the rain to a drizzle the following morning was a small comfort, but Ardhoniel was nevertheless glad for it. Her thighs were still sore from yesterday's sliding and shifting on the wet saddle, and she would not miss the sloshing of her feet in her boots. Moreover, in light of last night's events, she felt considerably more at ease now that she could see more than five feet in front of her.

By mid-morning they reached the start of what was commonly known as the East Bight: a man-made bay of grasslands in southern Mirkwood. Many years ago, local Men had settled in the area, living of the forestry and then later, of farms that were set up in the resulting grasslands. For many years the Men of the North had lived and flourished in these lands. But that was before the Great Plague and Wainrider Invasion terrorized the lands, and killed and enslaved its people. Now all that was left to remind the company of Elves of these days long passed were the dilapidated ruins that sat by the side of an overgrown road.

Staring across the fifty mile bight, they observed several more of these ruins dotting the green landscape; some were made up of only single structures, others a collection of structures fallen in disrepair. Then they noticed the smoke.

The exact origin of the black smoke was unknown at the time, but it appeared to be emitted from a place just off the far edge of the forest. With the memory of last night still fresh in their mind – and indeed, not having left it for the largest part of the day – no words were exchanged as the Elves urged their horses in the direction of the foul cloud.

* * *

It took them one hour to identify the source of the smoke as a village. It took them hour to reach its outskirts – and to fully take in the damage that had been wrought on the settlement. The black smoke was originating from the thatched roof of what appeared to be some sort of townhouse. It must have caught fire at one point in the night, although any spreading seemed to have been prevented by the heavy rain fall. A small comfort, for where the town's structures had been spared, its people had not.

The Elves abandoned the horses by the village edge as they carefully made their way into one of the streets. Bruihel crouched down by one of the many bodies littering the road, feeling for a pulse before she pulled a barbed arrow from the corpse's back. She hardly needed to inspect it to know its origin, and she tossed it away with a scowl, 'Orcs. And quite many from the looks of it.'

At this the four Elves exchanged glances, all making the same connection. If what they had heard last night was the host of Orcs that had attacked the village, the people had not stood a chance. They would have descended on the settlement like a wave, crushing everything and all in sight.

Ardhoniel looked around in defeat, taking in the many casualties of the attack. The real consequences of war. These were not warriors or warlords; they were farmers, woodsmen, tailors, and blacksmiths. Men, women, children. The Orcs cared for nothing and had spared no one.

'We looks for survivors. Spread out, but keep your guard up. There may still be Orcs lingering behind,' Aglaron ordered, the first to break the heavy silence that had fallen over them – and Ardhoniel was silently grateful. She had felt the inquiring gazes of the others, looking at her for guidance, to tell them what to do.

For once she was glad the Captain had considered her incapable of a task.

As she turned into one of the narrower streets, Neneth grabbed her small dagger a little tighter. She was a Healer, not a warrior – yet as she walked on, more and more she became convinced they would have need of neither that day. The Orcs, whatever their purpose here had been, were long gone, leaving only death in their wake.

Such appeared to be the faith of Men: to die. Whether on the battlefield against their own kin, from sickness or old age, or slaughtered in the night by Orcs, in the end all Men would perish. Taking in the scene around her, however, she concluded that although the destination may be the same, the path certainly was not – and her heart went out to the many innocents that had been robbed of their lives that night.

Almost unconsciously, the Elleth found herself taking the stairs up to a small porch and through an open front door. The scene that awaited her inside was as dismal as the one she had left outside: in one of the bedrooms she found an elderly couple lying by side, hands clutched even in death's embrace. In the kitchen lay the still body of a young woman, dressed in a white cotton nightgown.

Neneth passed her body carefully, making her way into the room beyond where she discovered the body of who she believed to be the young woman's husband. He lay in the middle of the room, his hand wrapped around a hatchet smeared with black blood; his attacker lying not three feet away from him.

Just as she crouched down by the Man to feel for a heartbeat – fully expecting there to be none, just like all the others – a rough hand wrapped itself around her ankle and Neneth felt herself being yanked back. Turning, she came to the very terrifying conclusion that the Orc had not been dead quite yet.

He was groping at her cloak, desperately trying to get her closer to him so that he could run her through with a wicked looking blade she spotted at his side. From what she could tell, the Man had seriously injured the creature's left leg, but that did not seem to stop it from continuing its attack.

Neneth kicked blindly at him, catching him somewhere in his face as she crawled backwards. Nevertheless, it would not let go of the fabric of her cloak and the kick only seemed to madden it – and soon she found her back hitting the bedpost.

Again it advanced on her, black eyes glinting as it, too, realised she had nowhere to run to anymore. As it raised its blade, Neneth threw herself at him with all the strength she possessed, embedding her tiny dagger deep within its jugular.

All movement ceased and for a moment, there was nothing but her own erratic breathing and… a sob? Clasping a hand in front of her mouth, Neneth listened again for the sound. When she heard it again, she carefully crawled forward, dagger still clutched firmly in her hand, to a wardrobe that stood at the other side of the room. There she paused, gathered her courage, and threw open the door to the closet.

Two wide, green orbs stared back at her, her own fear reflected in their depths. The young boy sat pressed up against the back panel and had stopped moving altogether since she had opened the door to his hiding place, eyes firmly fixed on her.

'Fear not, young one,' Neneth rushed to say, holding up her hands in a universal sign of peace, 'I am not here to harm you. I…' She trailed off, noticing that although his fear had seemed to lessen, he looked confused. Then it struck her that he was a boy of Men, and she had addressed him in Sindarin – the only language she knew.

Rushing to her feet, and scaring the young boy in the process, she held up her hands and tried to signal for him to wait. Neneth did not check if he understood, but instead ran out of the house and back into the silent Streets.

'Ardhoniel!' She called, looking around frantically for her friend. Fortunately, it did not take long for the blonde Elleth to appear. By now, she seemed to have recovered somewhat from the initial shock, and her face betrayed her alarm as she hurried up to Neneth.

'What is it? Are you all right?'

'I am, but I need your help.'

Aglaron and Bruihel also arrived at the scene, eyes flicking between the two Ellith. When Neneth and Ardhoniel moved up the stairs, they made to follow but the Healer held up her hand.

'Stay here. He is frightened enough as it is.' As Aglaron and Bruihel considered her words, the Ellith disappeared into the house.

Ardhoniel was led through the kitchen without a word, the other Elleth not even slowing down as they passed the body of a young woman. A heavy metallic stench flooded her as they stepped into a bedroom, where another corpse was splayed in the middle of the room. The stench, she realized, came from an Orc that lay by the bed, oozing from a wound in his neck too small to have been inflicted by the hatchet the Man carried. Before she had time to consider this, Neneth pulled her to a wardrobe – in which to her surprise, sat a living, breathing young boy.

As Neneth related her previous encounter with him, Ardhoniel could not help but observe this tiny child of Men. He was like nothing she had seen before, quite different even from the Men that had passed through Imladris at times. He had eyes the colour of the fields that they had passed that very day, which were set in an angular face. His skin was tanned and dusted with freckles on the bridge of his nose and on his cheeks, and all of this was framed by a mat of dirty blonde, shoulder-length hair.

'Hello,' she said to him at last, crouching down in front of the wardrobe to make herself less intimidating. Now at eye level, she realised how small he truly was, disappearing between the dresses that hung around him. Her experience with children of Men was very limited, and as such she knew little of their development, but Ardhoniel could only guess he must still be very young indeed. Far too young to be experiencing such horrors. She was suddenly reminded of the body of the Man lying behind them, a Man who must surely be his father, and forced on a friendly smile. 'Will you not tell me your name, little one?'

'Éadig, son of Éador, Miss.'

Ardhoniel pretended not to notice the way the boy's eyes flashed to his father when he said the name and instead nodded along. 'That is a very charming name, Éadig. My name is Ardhoniel and this lady is called Neneth.' At the sound of her name, Neneth bowed slightly to the young boy.

Ardhoniel paused, debating how to continue. A part of her wished to ask what had happened last night, but one look at the scared young boy erased the thought from her mind. Besides, there was little to be explained. Instead, she carefully asked, 'Éadig, do you happen to have any family living outside the village?'

Éadig's eyes strayed again to his father's lifeless body and tears started to well up in his eyes. Sniffing, he nodded, and swallowed. 'M-my father's sister. She lives in a town to the north-east, by the river Running with her husband and my cousin.'

A moment passed in which Ardhoniel's mind did the calculations. Based on how accurate the child's sense of direction of the "north-east" was, taking the boy to his remaining family would cost them anywhere between two days and a week – and that was in the scenario that all went well. What if they could not find the village? What if, Eru forbid, the aunt he mentioned would or could not take him?

Then, looking back at the little boy, she knew that even if all that could go wrong, would, there was no way they would leave him behind.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Oh no, again such a heavy chapter. Truly sorry guys! Also, I planned an interlude with the Dwarves but it simply got too long, so you will have to wait until next chapter to hear how our beloved Dwarves are doing!**

 **Also, if anyone noticed, the boy indeed has a Rohirric name and is also somewhat Rohirric in appearance. The Men that used to live in these parts eventually became the Rohirrim, so I based my description of him on that. Hope no one minds!**


	32. Chapter 32

**Author's Note: So first of all, welcome back to the 32th chapter of this story! Secondly, I only just now noticed that my AN of last chapter got cut off (purely by coincidence, as I was editing this chapter and here it got cut off as well). So sorry for that, I did want to thank all my lovely readers for sticking with me so far, so here you guys are again. Many thanks, for I would have never gotten this far without you! A special thanks to _Guest45_ for their wonderful review. You rock! Enjoy the chapter (and don't forget that reviews are an author's best friend!)**

* * *

 **Chapter thirty-two: The confrontation**

In the end, Ardhoniel and Neneth had taken the boy, wrapped in and shielded by Neneth's cloak from the corpses in the street, back to where they had left the horses, while Aglaron and Bruihel had entered the house to deal with the dead. Unsure of the customs and proper rituals to honour the dead of Men, the siblings had placed the young couple together on the bed, hands intertwined like the elderly man and woman in the other bedroom and eyes closed. They had dragged the Orc body from the house, thinking it wrong that their attacker would intrude on their final resting place. They had left the house with a heavy heart.

As they made their way back to the horses, the two Elves closed doors and moved corpses inside, praying that it may protect them from the hunger of wild animals. By the time they reached the remainder of their company, the sun had already started to set, colouring the skies red.

'We should make for the entrance of the Bight before nightfall,' Aglaron announced, all traces of his previous solemnity gone from his face as he fell back into his usual role. Indeed, the Ellon felt it was almost a relief to be able to resort to more familiar patterns – that way he did not have to think about the scene that they had just left behind.  
He noted that Ardhoniel relayed the news to the young boy already seated on the lady's horse, but otherwise no one made any outward response to his words. They mounted the horses and rode back towards the gap in silence under the light of setting sun.

* * *

'Here, Éadig,' Ardhoniel lowered herself on her haunches, holding the proffered stew out to the boy. It was not much – made up of the last of yesterday's hunting – but the child looked like he could do with something warm in his stomach.

'Thank you,' he said, unexpectedly, as his little fingers closed around the wooden bowl. His green eyes shortly flickered up to meet hers, then Éadig returned his gaze to the bowl in his hands. 'You are Elves, are you not? The boys in the village always talked about Elves living in the forest, but I thought they were just making that up to frighten the younger children.'

This came as a surprise to the Elleth who, although knowing her kin could be quite elusive, had not ever thought someone would question their existence. 'We are, although we are not from Mirkwood. I hail from across the Misty Mountains, from a hidden valley that is called Rivendell,' she observed him, but failed to notice any sign of recognition at the name, 'Neneth and our other companions, Aglaron and Bruihel, come from Lothlórien, to the south-east and just above Rohan.'

This seemed to sound somewhat familiar to the boy, for he nodded. 'But that is awfully far away, isn't it? My dad says Rohan is very far away from here. He says the very first King of Rohan was born in these lands and that I was named after him.' His momentary pride was dimmed as Éadig seemingly remembered what had transpired that day, and his face fell as a result.

'Your father must have been a very intelligent Man indeed,' Aglaron remarked from across the campfire, his voice gentle as he smiled at the young boy – seemingly ignoring the imploring looks Ardhoniel was sending him. 'If I recall correctly, the battle was almost certainly lost before Eorl and his men arrived, and Gondor would have been utterly defeated without them.'

'Yes! And as a reward the Steward of Gondor gifted him a piece of land!'

Her previous surprise at learning the Captain spoke Westron at all was quickly replaced by a feeling of gratitude as Ardhoniel watched him draw out the sad and withdrawn boy from his shell, for just a moment allowing him to forget about reality. When their gazes met briefly over the light of the fire, she felt they had finally reached some form of understanding.

* * *

They had lain in waiting for several days, watching and assessing the risk. They had travelled north along the forest edge, keeping a safe distance between themselves and the Orcs that would inadvertently look for cover during the lighter hours of the day. Despite ample time for preparation, there had been little to be done about the pack; the group was too large to face head-on. However, in the narrow alleys and twisted walkways of the town on the Long Lake, they may just stand a chance to pick the Orcs out one by one. Although neither Tauriel nor Legolas liked the idea of endangering the town and its inhabitants, it was their only chance to take them out. They could only hope they would be able to dispatch of the pack before any harm could befall the townspeople – or the Dwarves.

And so they had waited until at last night had fallen and the Orcs had, under the cloak of darkness, crept up to the village. It was a long path through open wasteland and eventually, across a slowly decaying pier, with nowhere to hide once they left the safety of the forest behind. As a consequence, the Orcs moved swiftly – and luckily too, for otherwise they would have noticed the two Elven hunters following not far behind.

Despite the city wall that enclosed the town, the Orcs quickly found access to the city via the rooftops. Here they paused for a moment, and Tauriel watched the Pale Orc address his minions. Before either Tauriel or Legolas could do anything, they dropped down into the maze of streets below and scattered like mice. The two Elves gazed at each other shortly, no words necessary to convey their intentions, before they followed.

Tauriel quickly lost sight of Legolas as she trailed her own quarry through the dimly lit streets. He was fairly unremarkable, flat-nosed and with darkened, grimy skin and vile fangs like the lot of them, but there was something about this particular one that made him of more interest to the Captain: she had often observed him in the vicinity of the Pale Orc, and believed him to be a lieutenant of sorts. If the Orcs had any clue about where to find the Dwarves, he was one of her best bets. And so she followed him, the hunter now the hunted, as he crept through the darkened alleys of the sleeping city. When they passed under an overhang, momentarily shielded from the revealing light of the waxing moon, she struck.

In one swift and silent motion, Tauriel drew the curved blade that hung from her belt and moved in, bringing her sword up to rest against the Orc's exposed neck. 'Where are the Dwarves?' She demanded.

Fimbul cackled for a moment, and she increased her pressure in warning. 'They will be drowning in their own blood in bed,' a sickly smile spread across its mouth, revealing the sharp teeth that lay beneath. 'But that is of no concern to you now, I think She-Elf.'

A dark shape dropped from the overhang, charging at her with its blade raised. Tauriel quickly spun away from her quarry, bringing up her own sword just in time to parry the new Orc's attack. Where the overhang had provided a perfect place for a sneak attack, it certainly did not for an open fight, and Tauriel quickly realised this as she countered several slashes from her opponent, and felt herself severely restricted in her movement. However, Tauriel had not become Captain for nothing, and if there was anything that she was proud to call herself, it was resourceful. Swords still crossed, she stomped down heavily on the creature's foot and, using its distraction, smashed her elbow to break its nose. She did not waste a second before finishing him off.

It was only when the adrenaline died down, and she was left to stare at his headless body, that Tauriel realised the silence. And that Fimbul was long gone.

* * *

Ardhoniel ran down snow-covered steps, boots unsteady as she stepped on the ice while she scanned the area for any sign of the Dwarven King. She knew he would be here, would have to be here, just like he always was. She looked around frantically, but could not detect any sign of him. She needed to warn him – to save him.

That is when she saw him, in the middle of the frozen river, panting with his blade still in hand as he stood in front of his slain foe. Her breath stilled as she regarded him, more kingly than she had ever seen him before, with his black locks tangled and softly swaying in the breeze, and his blue tunic painted with dirt and blood.

Her purpose momentarily forgotten, she stepped further on the ice. There was a certain unease nagging at the back of her mind, but she could not place it. All she knew was that it would be better if she could but reach Thorin. When she was about halfway across the ice, he looked up and his blue eyes met her grey ones. For a moment, the world fell away, and Ardhoniel fancied herself being able to see beyond those blue eyes, and straight into the Dwarf's soul.

From the corner of her eye she detected movement, and the Elleth tore her gaze away from Thorin's with great difficulty. At first, she was not sure what had caught her attention, for all seemed exactly as it had been. But then she noticed a shadow had fallen over the Dwarf, a faceless evil that stared down at him in mockery. Before she fully realised what was happening, a blade's point tore through his sternum.

Thorin's eyes met hers briefly for a second more, pain and surprise and sadness all mixed in their depths as he fell down onto his knees, before he collapsed to the ground and moved no more.

Ardhoniel shot up with a start, eyes burning with unshed tears of pain that had followed her from the land of dreams into the waking world. Her eyes searched the camp site, locating first Bruihel, then Aglaron and the child of Men nearby, before her gaze at last met with that of Neneth, who was seated on a log not far away.

'Are you well?' It was not the first time the silver-haired Elleth had caught her fighting the remnants of her nightmares, and by now Ardhoniel had little doubt she would know better than to believe her half-hearted lies – if she had ever. Neneth, however, never pressed for information that she was not willing to give, and she appreciated that. Now, however, severely shaken not only by the latest of a series of terrifying dreams but also the very real events of the day, she felt she could not pretend any longer.

'I had a bad dream. One of many, as a matter of fact.' Neneth said nothing, but from the heavy silence that hung around the camp she knew the Elleth was listening, silently urging her to continue. 'I keep seeing it… keep seeing him dying. And I am never in time to prevent it, no matter what I do.'

Neneth was silent for a moment, as Ardhoniel fought to regain composure. 'Dreams have the uncanny ability to bring about many sensations, all of which very real. Yet we cannot forget that they hold no sway over us, that although the emotions they inspire in us may be real, they themselves are not.' She smiled softly, 'All is not lost, yet, my friend.'

Rationally, of course, Ardhoniel knew her friend was right. The future was not set in stone and, as the Lady Galadriel had told her on that summer evening so many nights ago, her decisions could very well influence the turn of events as they were to happen. Yet, with nothing but the darkness and her own mind keeping her company at night, it was difficult to see any other paths than the one her nightmares invariably took. She told Neneth exactly that.

'Nighttime has the ability to colour many of our thoughts and feelings. But know this: your friends are with you, Ardhoniel, and we will be with you every step of the way to help. Have faith in that.'

'I have, in each one of you. But I do not know if I have faith in myself,' she admitted. 'I joined the Dwarves' Quest to prove myself worthy and ended up proving the exact opposite. How can I expect this to end any differently?'

Neneth seemed to seriously consider this for a moment. Then she turned her gaze back on Ardhoniel, azure eyes sparking in the light of the flames. 'If you have no faith in your ability to save him, then why are you here?'

The truth, heavy though it was, found its way to her lips remarkably easily. 'Because I have to try,' she said simply, voice full of conviction. 'Because I would rather die trying than live knowing that I did nothing to save him.'

The statement hung in the space between them, so pressing that it seemed to steal the very air from their lungs. Yet at last, Neneth spoke once more, a single, simple question. 'Do you love him?'

Again, Ardhoniel was surprised by the ease with which the truth presented itself. She had never before considered the question now posed to her, but now that it had, it was as if the answer had always been waiting for the right moment to be spoken. 'No. But given time, I believe I could have.'

* * *

Tauriel dropped the carcass of another Orc in the icy waters, wiping the black blood on her breeches. Nothing. Either because the Orc could not, or would not tell her, she did not know. Whatever the case was, he was now at the bottom of the Long Lake, and she still knew as little about the location of the Dwarves as she did when first they entered the town.

She started making her way to the main square, hoping that perhaps there she would find a clue as to the Dwarves' whereabouts – or at the very least, another Orc to slay. What she found was Legolas, engaged in a battle with one of the Orcs. And one of the guards of Lake-town.

'Guardsman,' Tauriel addressed him as she entered the square. The guard in question was looking very much at a loss, with his sword drawn and at the ready, but with no foe to use it against. He was middle-aged, tall and spindly, with a dark brown moustache covering his upper lip and part of his cheeks. She noticed he was eying the blond Elf and his opponent indecisively, as if unsure of whether he should intervene.

'Milady Elf,' he said, almost relieved as he lowered his weapon somewhat. 'What is going on? One minute I am on a perfectly normal and uneventful watch, the next this vile creature appears. And then your friend,' here he gestured with his sword to Legolas, 'jumped from the roof and engaged him in battle.'

'Your town is under attack,' Tauriel said, grimly. 'But…-'

'Attack?' The guardsman echoed, his face paling. 'You mean to say there are more of them?'

'Yes, many more. And they are here for a reason, which is wh…-'

'We should sound the alarm! Rally the men!'

'Will you listen?!' Tauriel called out angrily, thoroughly annoyed by the Man's quickly escalating terror. 'A band of Dwarves has arrived her several days ago. I need to know where they are staying.'

'Dwarves? At the old inn, I believe. However…-'

This time it was Tauriel who cut him off, impatiently. 'Which way?'

The guard pointed towards one of the larger exits off the square. 'But milady…'

But Tauriel did not wait for whatever would come next. A quick look exchanged with Legolas told her that he would handle whatever would come, and so she ran. She found the inn at the very edge of the town, near the city wall. The building was old and rotten, and the woodwork was patched up in many places to keep out the rain and cold, and the only way of telling it apart from the other equally dilapidated buildings around it was by its slightly larger size and the faded sign that hung above the entrance. Wasting no time knocking, Tauriel threw open the door.

* * *

Kíli woke with a start, although when he had, he was not sure what had awoken him in the first place. He had been having the strangest dream, he distantly remembered, though now that he was awake he could not remember what it had been about. A most curious matter, he thought to himself, though of course it could hardly be helped.

He turned around on his bedroll, grimacing at the discomfort that sleeping on the ground brought him now that he had been reminded of the comfort of beds only a few nights ago. From their campsite on the soft slope of the mountain, he could see the Long Lake and Lake-town in the distance, the latter illuminated by several small lights. At For a moment, Kíli thought he could see several of the small lights dancing, as if in pursuit of one another. When he blinked, however, all had gone quiet again.

A most curious matter, indeed, he decided, before he went back to sleep again.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Small note on this chapter (and on the entire story, actually). There are actually very few fixed dates in the Hobbit timeline, so for the most part I have created my own timeline that meets the official timeline in the fixed events. However, there was some uncertainty about the attack on Lake-town as far as I could see online. The attack was supposed to happen right before Smaug destroys the town. However, the date given online for the event is October 1, which seems strange as Durin's Day is set on October 19. That would mean that Bilbo would have entered the mountain 18 days before Durin Day, and I guess then it would make no sense that they would have to wait for the last light of Durin's Day to open the mountain, now does it?**

 **For this story, I therefore decided to 1) disconnect the Orc attack and the attack by Smaug, and 2) to keep the attack of Smaug on Durin's Day (or perhaps the day after, depending on how long Bilbo talks with him). Hope that makes sense!**


	33. Chapter 33

**Author's Note: Chapter 33! I had some trouble coming up with a proper name for this chapter, but I think I've managed to nail the content down with this title. Anyway, a big thanks to _Child of Dreams_ and _Guest45_ for their reviews. To the latter: of course you are completely right that there was far too little of dear Fíli in this fanfiction, so I decided to remedy it. I was planning on another interlude with the Dwarves anyway, and who better to pick as a point of view that sharp Fíli? I hope you enjoy this part! Now, on with the story!**

* * *

 **Chapter thirty-three: A man's heart**

Tauriel stood in the middle of the darkened taproom, the only sound breaking the all-consuming quiet her own erratic breathing. Now that she was here, a painful realisation was already beginning to set in even before soft footsteps sounded behind her – and she knew what he was going to say even before he opened his mouth.

'The Dwarves have left for the mountain. The Orcs scattered as soon as they found out.'

This was what she had expected – what she had feared – and yet it did not make it any easier to accept. She had come all this way to help her friends, to help better the world they lived in, only to find out she was too late. Had Thranduil been right all along? Was this not their fight?

'Tauriel?'

He was clearly waiting for an answer, but to what she did not know. Turning to face Legolas for the first time, she took in the cut on his cheek with concern, for a moment distracted from her other thoughts. 'You are wounded.'

'It is nothing,' Legolas said, gently pushing away her raised hand, before he led her outside. Once the door was firmly closed behind them and the duo started back to the entrance of the town, he continued. 'I know who their leader is; Bolg, a spawn of Azog the Defiler. I pursued him out of Esgaroth, where a warg pack was waiting for him on the outskirts of the town. I overheard them speaking of Gundabad.'

'Gundabad?' Tauriel repeated, eyes wide in realisation. No good had ever come of that orc-stronghold, and no good could be expected to come from it now. As she voiced these thoughts, a more profound realisation dawned on her. 'It was supposed to be abandoned. If they have any business there, that means…'

'That it must have been rehabitated,' Legolas finished grimly. At seeing the dangerous set of his friend's jaw, he stopped her by the arm, forcing her to look at him – and see reason. 'If it is so, there is nothing we can do about it, Tauriel. We are but two and we do not know what we shall find in that dismal place. Perhaps it is time for us to return home.'

'And leave these people to their faiths?'

'These people will not be at risk unless those Dwarves of yours awaken the dragon. Do not think me blind _or_ stupid, Tauriel; I know why we are really here.'

All seemed to fall silent the moment the words crossed Legolas' lips, and he seemed to know it too, for his eyes grew wide in response. Before he could try to take them back, however, Tauriel ground her teeth, forcing back the pain at her friend's callous words. 'You are right. I came because I have grown to care about one of them, consider him my friend. And indeed, their faith is of no consequence to you. But if I recall correctly, I did not force you to come out here. If you wish to leave, then leave, my lord Legolas.'

'Tauriel…-'

Whatever he had been about to say was cut off at the sound of galloping, and the duo looked up just as an Elven rider drew up his horse beside them, clearly out of breath. 'My Lord,' he addressed the Prince, 'Your father has requested you return to him immediately.'

Legolas turned to his lifelong friend, but she refused to meet his eyes. 'Please Tauriel, do not be foolish. We have got no part to play in this. Let us just return home.'

'My Lord, Tauriel is banished.'

'Banished?'

With the Prince's piercing gaze fixed on him, the messenger clearly became uncomfortable, for he stammered when he said, 'Y-yes, my Lord,' he gulped, 'For conspiration against the King and under suspicion of aiding in the escape of the prisoners.'

'That's absurd! You know I did no such thing.' Tauriel bristled, but it proved to be unnecessary.

When Legolas turned again to the messenger, his voice was calm and cool, but his blue eyes, raging like tempests, betrayed him. 'You may inform my father that if there is no place for Tauriel, there is no place for me.'

'Legolas!' The Captain cried, 'It is your King's command!'

'My King he may be, but I do not abandon my friends.' He turned to Tauriel, eyes determined as his mind was made up. 'I shall ride north; will you come with me?'

'To Gundabad?'

'To Gundabad.'

* * *

The town, when they neared the banks of the Celduin at long last, proved very difficult to miss. This corner of the world was an endless sea of grassy fields and small undergrowth, and the river carelessly meandered through it like a wayward drop of paint ruining a canvas. The town, though perfectly unremarkable in itself, was the only sign of civilization for many miles, a small centre of life in the wide nothingness. It was situated at a bend in the river, and served as a checkpoint for all trade between Dorwinion to Esgaroth and Thranduil's Halls.

At the same time, the small dock served as the only source of contact most of the town's inhabitants had with the rest of the world on more days than not. Trading caravans rarely ventured this far east, and no one of any importance ever had any reason of visiting. And so it was that despite their essential role in the trade between the north and east, Ardhoniel and her companions found the town blissfully ignorant of what had befallen the closest neighbouring village in the Bight of Mirkwood.

In the end, it had taken them four days to reach the river, and they had reached the town by nightfall. Here the Elves were greeted civilly, albeit a bit warily, by the Man who guarded the gate, and were let into the narrow, cobblestoned streets of the town. Aglaron was the first to carefully descend his horse to guide the animal across the uneven terrain by the reins, leaving the small slip of a boy of Men peacefully sleeping on its back.

By now, the endearing sight was almost familiar to the seasoned Captain, and he felt his heart clench at the idea that soon they would have to part. In their time together, the boy had quickly become attached to him, perhaps because he had been in dire need of a reliable, strong figure, perhaps because the Ellon had been the first to manage to distract the boy from his predicament, perhaps only because they were both male – whatever the reason was, Éadig had lapsed onto him from that first evening by the camp fire on, and had not let go ever since. It was through Aglaron's coaxing and gentle inquiring that they had learned the names of the aunt and uncle they would be looking for.

The first place they stopped at was a tavern of sorts where Aglaron stepped up to two Men that stood by the front door, pints in hand, while the rest of the company lingered in the back. 'Good evening, masters. I am looking for Fasthild and Uldor. Could you tell me where they reside?'

One of them, with lank dark hair that hung to his shoulders in a wild, greasy mess, eyed the Elf with no small measure of suspicion. 'Who's asking?'

From the Ellith's viewpoint it was impossible to see what exactly happened next, but one moment saw the Captain take a menacing step forward and the next the Man grew awfully pale. Bruihel was not surprised by this turn of events. She had known her brother for many years, and knew him to be an Ellon of moral principles. If he believed you were just and worthy, his patience and kindness were without limit. However, if he considered someone to be dishonest, dishonourable, or unworthy in any other way, he could, and would, be downright frightening. Perhaps it was what had made him such a good Captain. A just one, capable of being terrible.

'They live near the dock! Y-you just head that way, sir Elf,' here the Man pointed past the tavern, 'it's the house with the cast iron bench by the front door; you cannot miss it!'

The Ellon nodded and thanked the Man for his cooperation. No word was said about the encounter as they continued their way into the suggested direction.

Despite the Man's drunken state and disagreeable character – and Aglaron's obvious judgment of said character – it appeared he had spoken truth. Soon, the cobblestoned street opened up and the company found itself at the river's edge. To the left and right, small and weathered cottages lined the small quay, at which several small ships were docked, ready to be charged in the morning. At the moment, however, all was quiet at the dock, and a soft breeze played through the sails. They easily spotted the house with the bench by the door.

An uncomfortable moment followed at the door, in which none of the Elves was entirely sure what came next, until at last Ardhoniel raised her hand and knocked on the door thrice.

Mere seconds later the sound of footsteps approaching could be heard, and the door was swung open. 'Oh doctor, I didn't bel…-' The woman at the door abruptly closed her mouth mid-sentence when she noticed the person that stood at her door. She quickly wiped at her eyes, which Ardhoniel now noticed were red and swollen, and stood up a little straighter. 'Who are you?'

'My name is Ardhoniel, Miss. I've come with important news for Fasthild and Uldor.'

The woman nodded absent-mindedly, rubbing her forehead before she sighed. 'I am Fasthild, Uldor is my husband. Important as it may be, however, you shall have to come back later with your news, Miss Elf. My husband is out and I… now is not the time, I am afraid.'

Just then a cry was emitted from somewhere in the house, and the woman visible paled. 'I apologise for being rude, miss. My daughter has fallen ill about a week ago, but the symptoms have not receded yet. I sent my husband out to get a doctor, but… well, we fear the worst. I would not be surprised if he has ended up in that damn tavern drowning his misery in ale.'

'Allow my friend, Neneth, to take a look at the girl,' Ardhoniel offered, and at the sound of her name the Elleth in question smoothly stepped forward and into the light of the lantern hanging overhead. 'She is a doctor of sorts. If she cannot cure your daughter, perhaps she can at least see to it that she is… comfortable.'

The mother's eyes welled up again, but she nodded and stepped to the side to let the Elleth in. As Neneth was hurried further into the house, Ardhoniel turned to look at Aglaron, who was still standing by his horse and his charge.

'You should bring him in as well; he has had more than his share of nights sleeping out in the open air.'

Aglaron frowned a little, before his gaze drifted back to the boy and his expression turned worried. 'Men are very susceptible to disease, especially the young ones. I think I shall stay here for a moment, just to be sure Éadig will not catch the same disease as his cousin. Neneth may call for me when she requires assistance.'

Once again Ardhoniel was surprised at his thoughtfulness, but before she had time to comment on it, the Captain said, 'You two should go and find the husband. Whatever the outcome, he should be here with his family.'

* * *

For the past few days, the going had been slow and uneventful – and as such, had given Fíli plenty of time to observe, and to think. Even if he tried not to, being the elder brother to Kíli had made it a necessity for at least one of them to have a good head on their shoulders, and being Thorin's first heir had ensured that he had learned how to use it.

Ever since leaving Lake-town, he had seen a remarkable change in the lands around him. Where they had been green and fertile, now he saw only scorched earth and burned tree stumps. It was the legacy of the dragon Smaug, its last show of power to the inhabitants of the area. Seeing evidence of the might of the dragon for the first time, Fíli could not help but wonder at the rationality of their quest.

Then of course there was always his brother who, when he was not busy making trouble, could always be sure that trouble would somehow find him. Honourable though it had been of him to pull the lever and open the gates for the barrels at Thranduil's Halls, it had gotten him an arrow to the thigh. They had been lucky the wound had not gotten infected, but it clear as day to Fíli that the wound pained his little brother – though of course Kíli would pretend he was fine.

A part of him wished they had left the young Dwarf behind, if only so he knew that Kíli would be safe when danger would undoubtedly find them. Confronting a live dragon was no fickle thing, and to do so already harmed was folly. Of course, his younger brother could always be counted on to see and hear no reason, and so Fíli had had to accept that he would simply have to look out for him – as he had always done and would surely always do.

The most curious thing about it, however, had not been Kíli's hard-headedness, or even his uncle's somewhat ambivalent attitude towards it. He knew Thorin would first and foremost always be looking out for the two of them, and knew that that part of him would have rather left Kíli behind in the knowledge that he was safe than have him with them. Another part of him wanted nothing more than to introduce his two nephews, the closest thing to a family he had ever had, to the place he and their people had once called home. Both these things were to be expected and, in Fíli's not so modest opinion, completely logical given the situation.

However, over the last few days he had seen a change in his uncle. It was something that he could never quite put a finger on, but it was there in the shadows on his face and in the shift in his eyes. He felt it when Thorin would call for Kíli to walk faster, even though it was clear for everyone to see that the young Dwarf tried his best to keep up. He felt it when Thorin would snap at them whenever someone voiced concerns about the mountain and the dragon that lay dormant there. He felt it when Thorin would once again spent the entire night staring up at the Lonely Mountain, completely transfixed by the mountain and the stone that lay within. He felt it – and feared what it may grow into.


	34. Chapter 34

**Author's Note: Hello all and welcome to the 34th chapter of Bâhukhazâd! Many thanks to _Guest45_ for their lovely review (I completely agree with you about the uncle!). Enjoy the chapter and don't forget to review!**

* * *

 **Chapter thirty-four: Delirium**

When Bruihel and Ardhoniel arrived back at the tavern, they were happy to note the two greasy and grubby Men from before were no longer guarding the door, and so were left to enter the facility in peace. That is where the peace ended, however, for as soon as they stepped into the taproom, they were faced with a entire crowd of similarly grease and grubby Men.

As they made their way further into the room, both Ellith were painfully aware of the looks they were receiving – some filled with suspicion, some with curiosity, but far too many with a lust that made their hair stand on end and their skin crawl. They ignored the stares as best they could, and Ardhoniel used her superior height to peer across the sea of heads in search for anything that may help them find their quarry, but it soon proved to be a impossible task. All of these Men looked alike in the eyes of the Elleth – greasy dark hair hanging limply to their shoulders, faces red from the spirits they were consuming, and with beady dark eyes that followed their every move. How were they ever supposed to find a grieving father in a place such as this, she could not help but wonder. And when they had no idea what the Man in question looked like, too.

'Aren't you a pretty thing,' while Ardhoniel had been looking around, a middle-aged Man, obviously severely intoxicated, had drunkenly swaggered up to Bruihel, who was looking uncomfortable at his presence. When she did not respond, the Man threw his arm – the one not holding on to a tankard full of ale – around the young Elleth in a misplaced gesture of familiarity. 'Not a talker, eh? That's all right, I..-'

Whatever it was he was about to say next was cut off when Bruihel grabbed hold of his hand, and twisted it behind his back with a painful pop and a surprisingly calm expression.

Around them, all chatter had died down, and Ardhoniel was painfully aware that if they had not done so before, they were now holding everyone's undivided attention. Unsettled by the combined weight of their gazes, she quickly stepped closer to the younger Elleth, 'You should release him, Bruihel.'

'He should not have touched me,' she countered, eyes narrowed as she looked down at the now whimpering Man. 'I ought to castrate him for putting his hands on me without my permission.'

'I think he has learned that lesson now,' as Ardhoniel said this, her eyes travelled back to the pathetic man in the other Elleth's hands. Then she reasoned, 'Besides, if we still wish for their cooperation in finding our quarry, we should try not to frighten them even more.'

'Or frighten them just enough to get them to talk,' the blonde now smiled a bit and, albeit reluctantly, let go of the Man's arm, who immediately crawled to safety. 'I suggest you start the talking then.'

'My friend apologizes for the commotion,' Ardhoniel began, for once glad she was left to handle the interaction. 'We are here in search of a certain Uldor, husband of Fasthild.'

* * *

In the meanwhile, Neneth had taken to assessing the young daughter of the couple. She was propped up in her parents' bed, her small frame barely visible beneath the additional blankets and furs that had been placed on the bed in an attempt to keep the young girl comfortable. Her face was covered in a red, flat rash, which spread to her neck and disappeared under the blankets. When they entered the room, her body was wrecked with violent coughs, mucus dripping down her face. Touching her forehead, Neneth concluded that she was running a high fever that was taking an immense toll on the child's body. If nothing was to be done, Neneth considered it unlikely she was to survive the night.

While the Elleth assessed her daughter, Fasthild kept her distance as she prayed for the Valar to spare her life – as she had done continuously for the past several days. The disease had struck many children in their village, but none so badly as her little Hulda. Where the other children had gotten on the mend at the week's end, Hulda had only progressively gotten worse, until at last Fasthild had taken to keeping watch by her bed at night, for fear that she would not survive until dawn. There had been little she or her husband had been able to do for the young girl however, apart from keeping her warm and hydrated, and even the town doctor had not been able to give them any sort of advice when the disease did not recede, except but to pray. And pray she had.

A hand touched the young mother's arm, and she noticed the silvery haired She-Elf had stepped away from her daughter. 'Friend,' the Elf said only, gesturing in the direction of the front door.

Despite this limited interaction, Fasthild understood, and she nearly ran out the door. If these strange Elves that had appeared at her door were the Valar's answer to her prayers, she would not be the one to doubt them. There was once a time where she might have been sceptical of divine intervention, but that was before. Before the Valar had blessed her and Uldor with a child, after years of trying but failing to conceive and multiple miscarriages.

Throwing open the front door, Fasthild noticed that only the fair-faced blonde male had remained by the company's horses. He stopped his humming as she approached. 'Your friend has asked for you,' she announced, not quite capable of bringing her voice down to a steady level.

The Elf seemed conflicted for a moment, then turned quickly to tuck something in on the high back of his horse, before he politely nodded to her. 'Lead the way, miss.'

When they re-entered the bedroom, the She-Elf had taken a seat by Hulda's head, wiping away the locks that clung to her clam face with a gentle touch. At their entrance, she turned to her male companion and spoke to him in a strange, lilting language that Fasthild did not understand yet somehow seemed to lift her soul.

'My friend needs a pestle and a mortar, as well as boiled water,' the male announced, and Fasthild nodded eagerly, scurrying away towards the kitchen. The lady Elf was going to do something. That meant there was hope. That mean Hulda could yet be saved.

As she set to boil the water, Fasthild was left in a position that she had grown all too familiar with over the past few days: waiting. Waiting for the symptoms to reside. Then, waiting for the last breath, the last heartbeat. The thoughts that had had filled her head then were much more morose than the ones that she pondered over now, as she waited for the water to boil. There was hope for her dear Hulda!

When she returned to the room with the requested objects, the She-Elf immediately set to work. With practiced hands, she cut up several herbs – which Fasthild noted came from a pack that had not been there before – and ground them in the mortar. Then, she carefully added the water until the mixture resembled a thick broth, although the fumes rising from the mortar were heady and balsamic.

Fasthild suddenly noticed the She-Elf was gazing at her in an uneasy manner, before she turned to her friend and discussed something in low tones. Once more, the male turned to Fasthild to give her the translation.

'Given the stage of the disease, my friend says the only option is to administer the medicine orally. However, it is extremely foul-tasting and your daughter is sure to make some attempt at... rejecting the medicine.'

Fasthild nodded, her mind hardly having registered more than the word "medicine".

Seemingly unsatisfied however, the male Elf sighed. 'We can handle it, miss.'

It took the woman several seconds to understand his meaning. When she did, she shook her head and stood a little taller, maternal instincts forcing her forward to her daughter's side, 'I will not leave my child alone when she needs me most.'

He nodded, albeit a bit warily, and returned to the bedside. As he took up his place by the little girl's head, and Fasthild took hold of Hulda's cold hand, he said only. 'It is extremely important that she drinks as much of it as she can, if she is to have any chance at survival.' Then he turned his head to Neneth, and their eyes met – and if Fasthild had needed any more reassurance that these two strange Elves would do whatever they could do save her sweet Hulda, she knew she would have found it there.

* * *

After the confrontation, the Men in the tavern parted for them like water on rocks to reveal the sole inhabitant of the tavern not yet paying them any mind. He was seated at a rickety table near a large fireplace, drinking from a large tankard with several empty ones sitting nearby. His hair was dark and tangled, like that of the rest of them, and when Ardhoniel and Bruihel came to a halt next to his table, he turned green, bloodshot eyes on them.

'What d'ya want?' Uldor grumbled, pulling his tankard towards him as if in fear they would attempt to take it from him – and Ardhoniel had half a mind to do just that.

'We have come to retrieve you.'

He flinched at the words, then took another large swig of ale. 'So it has happened at last.'

'It has not,' Ardhoniel responded through clenched teeth, 'Your daughter is still out there fighting for her life – while you sit here and selfishly drown yourself in your own misery!'

''S nothing I can do for her,' he slurred, looking down at his ale mug only to find it empty to his annoyance. When he raised his hand to signal the barman to bring him another, the Elleth wrapped her own hand around his and forced it down on the table.

'Yet doing nothing by her side would still be better than leaving your wife and daughter alone in what may be her last moments.' Her grey eyes briefly met his green ones, and she thought she saw a glimmer of remorse in them, which caused her next words to come out more gently. 'Go home and support your wife and your daughter – whatever happens.'

Spurred on by her words, the intoxicated Man nodded, and made to stand – only to crash right back into the table.

With a deep sigh and an exchanged glance of exasperation, the two Ellith hoisted Uldor back to his feet and, each taking an arm, guided him out of the tavern. Luckily for them, the cool night air seemed to do some good in sobering him, for soon the young father was capable of walking by himself, and for the first time he seemed to notice the curious identity of his companions.

He snorted, 'What are two of your kind doing here anyway? Did you travel on one of the boats?'

Ardhoniel considered telling him about the little boy that they had found, the little boy they had been planning on simply leaving with his aunt before returning on their quest. Despite the difficult situation, sooner or later they would have to inform Fasthild and Uldor of their nephew. Glancing over at the grief-stricken father, Ardhoniel decided it would have to be later. 'An errand brought us to your doorstep, where your wife informed us of the situation.'

Uldor merely nodded in response, and when they arrived back at the quay moments later, he did not hesitate to rush back into the house.

The Ellith made their way over to the bench at the front of the house, where Neneth and Aglaron were already seated – looking exhausted, but content. Bruihel did not need to ask how things had gone, but she couldn't anyway, for at that moment Fasthild appeared at the door, eyes brimming with tears.

'She is fully conscious for the first time in three days,' she told them, then her eyes looked from Aglaron to Neneth, where they remained. 'Thank you.' When the Elleth nodded, seemingly in understanding, Fasthild turned her eyes back on Ardhoniel – and recomposed herself. 'Will you and your friends be staying in town?'

'Only for the night,' she said, 'Tomorrow we shall have to resume our journey north.'

The woman hummed, 'Then you shall stay with us tonight. My husband works at the docks, he can arrange for you to be aboard one of the ships departing for the Woodland Realm, if you wish.'

Exchanging a short glance with Aglaron, Ardhoniel smiled, 'That would be great, miss.'

'Please call me Fasthild.'

'Very well, Fasthild.' She wanted to end the conversation there; it was easiest, after all. However, now that the woman's daughter was out of immediate danger, Ardhoniel knew there was no reason not to inform them of Éadig's fate. And so she continued, 'There is, however, another matter that I must discuss. We travelled this way from the west. In the East Bight of Mirkwood we came upon a village raided by Orcs; there were no survivors, save for one.' By this point, Aglaron had gone to retrieve the thankfully still sleeping boy, wrapped in the Captain's warm cloak and safely tucked in his strong arms.

'Éadig,' Fasthild whispered, one hand softly touching his blonde hairs. 'He was but a babe when last I saw him.' Realization of what his presence here, in combination with the story the Elleth had told, meant seemed to set in, for she shook her head sadly, 'Poor Éador.'

'He told us you were his only surviving relatives, and so we brought him here.'

Despite the horror that her last few days must have surely been, the woman of Men seemed to pull one last bit of emotion from her very depths as her eyes turned to Aglaron, 'Thank you for taking care of him. Although we may never be his real parents, I shall make sure he will want for nothing.'

The stern-faced Captain said nothing in return, but when the woman made to take the little boy, his eyes were full of an emotion that Ardhoniel could not name, but that made her own heart clench painfully.

* * *

In his dream, Thorin was back in the Gallery of Kings. Yet while the room had always been full of life and business in the days of his youth, it was now abandoned. King Thrór was not seated on his throne. And the Arkenstone was not set in the stone above him. It was an unsettling sight; familiar, and yet so very alien that he could not help but feel like an intruder in his former home.

Unconsciously, Thorin found himself drawing nearer to the empty throne, each step echoing between the enormous walls of the cavernous room. A cold wind blew through the gallery, and Thorin felt the hair in his neck stand on end as he started up the worn steps that would lead up to the throne.

And suddenly she was there – as she always was. Dressed in a dark blue dress, with her long blond hair pulled back in an intricate braid and a delicate silver circlet resting on her golden head. A small smile was playing at her lips, transforming her from fair to beautiful with that simple pull of the muscles that he had come to know so well, and suited her so much more than the frown that had marred her features during their last encounters. Although he should have been surprised to find her here of all places, he could hardly bring himself to wonder at the oddity. She was always there, wherever he'd go.

With one pale, delicate hand she took hold of his larger, rougher one, and guided him towards the vacated throne. Their gazes locked, sparking blue meeting clouded grey, as he slowly seated himself.

She bowed deeply and for a moment all that he could see of her was the crown of her head and the proof of her noble bloodline that rested on it. When she returned her gaze to his, the smile had fled from her face and tears were streaking her cheeks. In her right hand, she was now clutching the silver circlet. In her left hand, she held the Arkenstone.

Her name fell as a breath from his lips, and Thorin extended his hand – to touch her or the stone, he did not know. Then, before his confict was resolved, she turned into smoke, the precious stone disappearing along with her.

Thorin awoke with a start, grabbing hold of Bilbo, who had been about to wake him for the second watch. In response to the Hobbit's shriek, he quickly let go and grumbled an apology. He could hardly blame the poor lad for scurrying off to his bedroll as soon as he was released.


	35. Chapter 35

**Author's Note: Hi all and welcome back to chapter 35! Many thanks for all the support I have received for this story. I honestly couldn't have done it without you! An even bigger thanks to _Guest45_ (with whom I agree that Bruihel was a total cute badass in last week's chapter) for their review. Given that I understand Thorin's dream may have been somewhat confusing, I added a (sort off) explanation at the end of this chapter. Now enjoy!**

* * *

 ** **Chapter thirty-five: What to do with the time that is given to us****

They woke at first light, when Fasthild prepared them a simple breakfast of porridge and some dried fruit. When they were all fed and freshened up, the Elves followed the young family out on the quay. Here, the company made quick work of unburdening the horses, before sending the animals off to find their own way home. Then they resumed their journey towards one of the docked river boats.

Uldor exchanged quick words with the captain who, after some discussion, agreed to take the curious company with him to Lake-town. One of the Men from the boat made short work of their baggage, leaving the group with nothing to do but say their goodbyes.

Uldor first stepped forth, firmly shaking each of their hands. 'I thank you for the help you have given my daughter… and the truthful words you have given me. They were much needed,' he grimaced, then returned to his wife's side to take Hulda from her. Although the girl still looked a bit pale and exhausted, some much needed colour had returned to her face and she regarded the Elves with bright, green eyes.

Fasthild next encompassed each of them, to each of their surprise, in a tight hug. 'If you ever journey through these lands again, feel free to stop by.' The woman smiled warmly, 'Our door will always be open for you.'

'Say goodbye, Éadig,' she then said softly to the boy, holding out her hand.

However, the young boy was not yet ready to take leave of the Elves, for he clung tightly to Aglaron's hand. When he looked up, tears were threatening to spill from his eyes and, almost with a practiced ease, Aglaron lowered himself down beside the boy. 'Don't cry little one,' he wiped some of the tears that had already started falling from the boy's cheeks with the pad of his thumb. 'For you see, the Valar have a plan for all of us. They brought me to you, and now they tell me to go onwards.' Seeing the boy's tears had not subsided, Aglaron unfastened one of the strings from his belt, handing the sheeted dagger to the little boy as, for once, he listened not to his voice of reason, but to his heart. 'This was my first dagger, which I received after finishing my first weapons training, and is very dear to me. I expect you to take good care of it, as I shall be returning for it one day.'

The boy nodded, holding the dagger to him like it was of great value – and to him, it was. He finally let go of the Ellon's hand, stepping back to stand beside his uncle.

With one last look at the little boy, Aglaron rose and the company boarded. When the boat departed several minutes later, the Elves waved goodbye at the family of Men still standing on the quay.

* * *

Ever since the decision to follow the Orcs to Gundabad, Tauriel and Legolas had had little rest, and even fewer sleep. The Orcs, whatever their reason for going to the stronghold was, seemed to be in a great hurry, stopping only late at night for some food and rest – meaning the two Elves had no choice but to do the same. It was a tiring routine, but Tauriel felt herself something grateful for it, as it meant she had little time to think of her banishment. And where Legolas stood in all of it. She had decided to save the matter for after saving Kíli.

As it was, she and her best friend, despite his decision to defy his father in her favour, had said little ever since that day. Although both Elves knew enough about survival to not let their own personal grievances stand in the way of clear communication, there was a strain on their relationship that had not previously been there. Or it had been, but as long as the words had gone unspoken, Tauriel had been able to ignore it. Pretend that she did not know that her recently formed friendship with Kíli bothered Legolas. Pretend that she did not know that by trying to save the Dwarf, she had broken every written and unwritten rule of her people.

'You may go to bed,' Tauriel said, setting herself up against a tree for the watch, 'I shall wake you when the Orcs stir.'

Taking out one of her daggers and a whetstone, she was ready to lose herself to the mindless action when Legolas surprised her by speaking once more. 'I wish to apologise for what I said to you on our departure from Lake-town. It was uncalled for.' He hung his head and knowing her friend as she did, Tauriel knew he would not have apologised if he had not meant it. Although he differed greatly from his father in nearly everything, they were quite alike in their pride.

'No, you were right. I care about Kíli and would not see harm befall him if it is in my power to stop it. Yet I could have forgiven you for your words regarding him, had you not also hurt my pride in assuming that was all there was to my reasons for leaving.' Here she paused, arranging her thoughts before continuing her speech. In reality, there were many elements that had eventually led to her decision to leave. Her parents' death, the arrival of the Dwarves, her friendship with the lady Ardhoniel, then her talks with Kíli. Although the pieces all made sense to her, it took her a moment to fit them together. Then she spoke, 'I have had doubts about the way our patrol was organised for a long time, as you know.'

'As you had about many other decisions my father made,' Legolas added, though without judgment.

Tauriel nodded, 'I shall not pretend that I did not always agree with his decisions, but I followed them through because it was my duty. But when the Dwarves and the lady Ardhoniel arrived, I came to see there was another way. And I found that I could no longer follow the old one.

'Too long have we waited, my friend. Too long have we sat on the side lines, watching the many years of the world trickle by and doing nothing. I cannot any longer.'

She now turned to him, her eyes filled with a fire that had been smouldering for a while, now flared up like a bonfire. 'If we do not act now, how can we ever claim to be a part of this world anymore, Legolas? For one day we shall step beyond our walls, and will not recognise the world outside anymore.'

For a moment Legolas said nothing, eyes fixed on her face yet seemingly seeing nothing. Then, he nodded, 'Then let us be bystanders no more, my friend.'

* * *

The weather turned on the sixth day on their journey north. During the night, the river had meandered through the outskirts of Mirkwood and when they had re-emerged the following morning, they had been greeted by heavy autumn rain. Anyone of the crew who could be spared preferred to remain inside and the Elves – though not submitted to the same risk of catching a cold – held the same preference. That is, until Aglaron suddenly stood and marched out into the downpour.

From their seat by the window, the Ellith watched him stand by the railing, looking out at the surrounding landscape through the haze of rain pensively. Ever since leaving the town of Men the Ellon had been distant, even for his own standards. All of them could guess what had caused the change – or rather who – but when they had attempted to breach the subject he had abruptly cut them off, saying he had no desire to talk about it. Ardhoniel wished she could somehow make him feel better, but knew equally well that their relationship was not nearly well enough to allow for such an attempt.

Fortunately, just then Neneth stood from her seat and wordlessly followed their companion out. For a moment, the two remaining Ellith sat in silence, watching through the glass as Neneth reached her destination. She put her hand on one of Aglaron's, which was gripping onto the railing with enough force for his knuckles to go white. When Neneth gave it a soft squeeze, Aglaron finally looked upon her. They saw how their gazes locked for a moment, before Neneth started speaking, the sound lost to the wind.

Turning from the window, Ardhoniel noticed Bruihel's eyes were twinkling and a mischievous smile was playing at her lips. When she raised her eyebrow at the younger Elleth, Bruihel's smile only widened. Then, they both burst out into laughing simultaneously.

It felt surprisingly good, between death and illness, between danger and even mortal peril, to act so silly for once.

'What do you suppose they speak of?' Bruihel wondered when their laughter had subsided at last. She threw another look out of the window, only to find her brother still engaged in conversation with the usually so timid Elleth.

'I don't know. Did they know each other before this Quest?'

Bruihel was about to shake her head, but then stopped. 'I don't know actually. If she was working at the House of Healing, it is possible they met through there. Even so, I don't think I have ever seen my brother look at an Elleth the way he is now looking at Neneth.'

'Do you think it is possible something might have happened when we were out fetching the uncle?'

The younger Elleth entertained that idea briefly, before shaking her head. 'I doubt it. Before today, I would have been surprised if he had even noticed there was such a thing as the other sex, let alone entertain notions of affection. No, we are probably reading far too much into this.'

And so the matter was settled. For now, at least.

* * *

Earlier that day, the Dwarves of Erebor and their burglar Hobbit had finally reached the foot of the mountain, where they had found themselves at what had at one point been the front gates of Erebor, now reduced to nothing but a large pile of ruin and debris. The sight saddened the elder Dwarves, who had seen the gates when they'd still served as the entrance to the last remaining Dwarven kingdom in Middle-Earth. They had had little time to dwell on those far-away memories, however, for soon Thorin had called for them to spread out and look for the secret entrance that was described on Thror's map.

Hours they searched, and it was in fact sharp-sighted Bilbo who'd finally discovered the narrow passage that led up via the massive sculptures that guarded the front gate, along a cliff, and to a small enclosed clearing where a flat, smooth patch of stone covered a part of the mountain's side. This was it, they knew, this was the entrance to the mountain.

However, despite all of their searching for a keyhole, despite all the knocking and banging they did with picks, axes, and bare hands, the door would not open – and at last the light of the day faded from the sky.

'Keep looking,' Thorin ordered, seating himself on a rock as he tried to think about their situation. They had finally reached the mountain and they were so close. So close to reclaiming the mountain. So close to reclaiming his home, his kingdom, his birth right! And now the damn door would not open!

He tore at his raven hair, looking up just in time to see Balin retract himself from the group of Dwarves still trying valiantly yet vainly to open the secret entrance. 'We will not find the entrance tonight, Thorin. With the new moon all that we have is the light of the stars to guide us. Let us return to the task in the morning, when we are rested. You look like you could some rest yourself, my friend.'

'I am not tired,' Thorin bit back, even as his head pounded with fatigue. Yet he knew that the night would bring him little sleep, and even less rest. For whatever reason, the treacherous She-Elf had featured in each of his dreams as of late. Dressed in the colours of his line, she would dare weep even as she kept his precious Arkenstone from him.

He looked up at his company through tired eyes; the strain in their limbs, the bags under their eyes. 'You may go to sleep,' he amended, 'We still have time until Durin's Day. We will find the entrance tomorrow. And then we will reclaim my kingdom.'

Balin said nothing and when he turned to call down the other Dwarves, Thorin did not notice the sad expression on his oldest friend's face.

* * *

When they arrived in Lake-town, the sun was setting and autumn had officially fallen over the lands. The past few days had seen more rain, strong winds, and even when the boat filled with wine caskets had not been plagued by rain or wind, the evenings had chilled remarkably.

As for the company of Elves traveling on board, they were simply glad to regain steady ground beneath their feet – or as steady as the ground could ever be in a town built on wooden uprights. After saying their thanks to the captain, they entered the silent town.

They passed through a dark and narrow alley and followed the path as it veered off to the right, then passed over the water and seemed to lead to a square in the distance. Just then, a Man holding a torch in his right hand, left hand loosely holding on to his sheeted sword, passed in front of them – whistling off-tune and seemingly unaware of the company of Elves behind him. This latter observation was proven right when Ardhoniel announced them – and the Man nearly jumped out of his skin.

'Excuse me, sir,' Ardhoniel started, watching with interest as he shrieked. She waited for him to turn to her, when she noticed he was wearing a faded guardsmen uniform. He looked to have reached the midpoint of his life, with thinning dark hair and a matching moustache that covered his lip and a good part of his cheeks as well. All in all, he looked utterly unthreatening – an impression not helped in the least by the startled look on his face.

'You are an Elf!' He nearly cried out.

'Yes, but…-'

'How many of you are there? What are you all doing here?'

'Sir, I don't…-'

'This is getting ridiculous!' He stumbled and, before she could get another word in, had taken off.

Exchanging a flabbergasted glance with her companions, Ardhoniel scratched her head in thought. 'Well, then I suppose we shall just have to find an inn by ourselves.'

* * *

 **Author's Note: Just to clarify, the guard is the same one that Tauriel ran into. Obviously, he is only mere seconds away from reaching some kind of conclusion about Elven conspiracy, haha! (:**

 **Now on the note of Thorin's dream. I imagine Thorin's internal struggles somehow being personified by the person of Ardhoniel. So yes, it is her he is dreaming of, but she is also representing many of his other struggles** – **for instance his growing obsession with the Arkenstone. I hope this makes a bit sense. Please tell me if it doesn't. Additionally, I am also just very curious about your own interpretations about the dream, so if you want, do share!**


	36. Chapter 36

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! Many thanks for still following this story and a special thanks to _Guest45_ for their review of last week's chapter. As a quick note: I definitely envision the horses getting back safe (I could never hurt animals, even in my stories!). This chapter's a bit short and also lacking in any real action. However, a good thing to keep in mind is that according to my roughly made timeline, Durin's Day is now less than a week away! Super exciting! Now, enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter thirty-six: The making of a king**

By the time that they had located the little, dilapidated inn, the moon had already been high in the sky – and so any plans to gain information about the Dwarves had to be postponed until the morrow. They had booked two double rooms, the beds old and unstable, the wood groaning with every toss and turn, and the sheets smelled like they had been there since the beginning of the First Age. Nevertheless, the Elves were tired, and the beds, rickety though they were, were at least steadier than their many nights on the boat had been. And so goodnights were brief that evening, and Ardhoniel would not have been able to say if Neneth even reached the bed or not, for she was fast asleep herself as soon as her head hit the pillow.

The morning brought along another rainy day, and the Elves woke to the sound of the pitter-patter of rain on the dusty window panes. They went down to the tavern room for breakfast, where they were served by an older woman with greying hair and a face lined by the many harsh years of her life.

When the woman scurried back towards the bar to get them their drinks, Ardhoniel followed. 'Excuse me,' she started in a low voice, although it was unnecessary, given that the tavern room was void of any of the other guests – if there were any at all. 'I was wondering if you could tell me if you saw any Dwarves pass through town recently?'

'Dwarves?' The woman repeated, drawing out the word, though not in a way of surprise, or thought, or anything at all really. In the meanwhile, experienced hands cleaned mugs and poured drinks all on their own. 'Why yes, a company of Dwarves was here naught but a few weeks ago. Got a royal welcome from the Master himself, they did. Ordered they got the finest rooms in my inn, and without paying! How am I supposed to live if I have to let fourteen of my finest beds for free?'

Ardhoniel did not know what to answer to that, and so she asked, 'When did they leave?'

'A week or so ago, maybe longer. Off to slay the dragon and reclaim the mountain. I say it's all fine and well as long as we get the riches they promised.'

'Riches?'

'Have you not heard of the vast treasury of Erebor?' This time she did stop her busy hands, if only to gaze at the Elleth with more effect. 'We offered them shelter, food, and supplies for their journey. In exchange, they promised to let us share in their wealth when the mountain is reclaimed.' Her face wrinkled, and she added, more like an afterthought, 'Not everyone was equally happy with that promise however, least of all Bard.'

During the old woman's speech, a feeling of foreboding had started to pool in her stomach that she did not want to put a name to. For now, she pushed the ominous feeling aside, refocusing on what the woman had said. 'Where can I find this Bard?'

When she returned to their table, a serving tray with their drinks in hand, a small smile had formed on Ardhoniel's lips. Finally, after many months, she felt like they were close to catching up on her friends. 'After breakfast, you will have to see if there are horses to be found somewhere in this town, as well as fill up on any other provisions we may need for the last leg of the journey. As for me, I shall be paying a visit to Bard the Bargeman.'

* * *

Kíli looks around him, grateful to find he was alone for the time. They had been searching for the secret entrance for the better part of the day, as they had for the last few days. They had searched the clearing and, when they could not find anything there in two days of seeking, Thorin had ordered them to go back down and search the grounds below. That been three days ago – and they had nothing to show for it.

Seating himself on a large piece of stone – which, he suspected, had at one point been part of the colossal front gate – the young Dwarf gently massaged the flesh of his left thigh. Dwarves were a hardy folk, not easily affected by strain or even flesh wounds, but intensive use and limited medical care had left the arrow wound sore and at risk of infection. Kíli had said nothing however, not even to his brother, fearing that if Thorin caught wind of it he would be scolded for his weakness or, not unlikely in his current dark mood, may even send Kíli back to Lake-town.

The truth was, something was not right with Thorin these days. Kíli had always known him to be stern, harsh at times, and with a quick temper and sharp tongue, but never cruel, never unjust. Over the past few days, he had seen the Dwarf he had looked up to his entire life morph into something quite different.

'Don't let your uncle see you sitting around like that.'

Kíli rushed up to his feet, wincing when he once more put pressure on his injured leg. 'Master Dwalin, I.. I did not see you there. I was just enjoying the sun for a bit.'

The older Dwarf send him a stern look, not unlike the many he had received during his weapon training as a Dwarfling. Dwalin turned, but not before saying, 'Have Oín look at that tonight, lad. Won't do you any good having it get infected – if it is not already.'

* * *

As it turned out, Bard would not return from the Lake until that evening, and so Ardhoniel was left to dwell through the town for most of the day. It was a most curious feeling, and she found it difficult to recall the last time she had been able to spend her day in such carefree a manner. She knew it couldn't be more than a couple of months ago, when she was still at home. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Nightfall saw her climbing the wooden steps that led up to the tiny house that she was told belonged to the bargeman, and she found herself hesitating at the doorstep. In truth, she did not know what had made her decide to visit the Man in the first place, but she suspected it had something to do with the feeling of foreboding that she had felt when the inn keeper had voiced the arrangement they had made with the Dwarves. Somehow, the whole situation just did not sit well with her.

When the door opened, Ardhoniel was surprised to find that Bard was not a cranky older man with a scowl permanently carved in his features, but rather a handsome, dark-haired Man at the prime of his life. He was dressed in a tattered coat and, below that, she could see hints of an equally tattered and patched shirt and breeches.

'Good evening,' she said hurriedly, noticing his raised eyebrow. 'Are you Bard the Bargeman?'

'Aye. Who is asking?' He looked around her, seemingly looking for something.

'I'm called Ardhoniel. I was wondering if I may have a word.'

He observed her for a moment, but then, not wanting to leave a female standing outside in the cold night, nodded and stepped aside. He led her into the crowded main room, where stood a heavy wooden table and bench, and two old but comfortable looking fauteuils which might have been a deep red at some point in time but were now just a murky brown. Pots, pans, and many other objects – both common and uncommon household items – hung from the ceiling, and a fire in the hearth behind the two chairs warmed the room.

'Please, sit,' Bard said politely, gesturing towards one of the fauteuils as he sat himself in the other. When she followed, he said, 'You must forgive my straightforwardness, but might I ask what has given me the honour of your visit, my lady?'

'I have come for information,' she responded bluntly, yet honestly.

'If this is about the wine import, then I should refer you to another Man; I am simply the one who collects the empty barrels.'

'Oh I am not from Mirkwood,' Ardhoniel said, realizing belatedly that he must have presumed her a representative of the Woodland Realm. At the same time, she became aware of a little girl that had sneaked into the room when they had first sat down, and had been staring unwaveringly at her ever since.

Following her gaze, Bard was momentarily distracted. 'You must forgive my youngest daughter, my lady. She has never seen an Elf before.'

Ardhoniel was about to wave his concerns away, when the girl herself spoke up, her voice shrill and indignant. 'Yes I have!' The little girl objected, 'Just the other night, da!'

'There was another Elf in town?' Ardhoniel breathed, her interest sparked at this news. Despite their trade with the town, she knew the Elves of Mirkwood – quite like all other Elves – preferred to keep to themselves.

Bard shook his head, sending the young girl a stern, but not unkind look. 'There was an Orc attack about a fortnight ago. Tilda believes to have seen a She-Elf fighting them. If you ask me, the only odd thing was that the Orcs left before any real damage could be done.'

'That is curious indeed,' Ardhoniel hummed in agreement, the cogs in her mind turning. Could it be that these Orcs were looking for the Dwarves? Or was it perhaps simply an unrelated raid? For now, with none of the involved parties present, it was impossible to say. And so she returned her mind to the young girl's words, and asked 'The She-Elf, what did she look like?'

'She was very beautiful,' Tilda started excitedly, happy to be involved in the discussion once more. 'I only saw a flash of her however, as she jumped down from our roof. She had very long, flowing red hair, which was partially braided back, and…'

Tauriel. What could have caused the Captain of the Guard to stray this far from her home? Could it be that she, too, was in pursuit of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield? Was she here to find the prisoners and bring them back to their cells?

'… Do you know her?'

Looking up from her thoughts, Ardhoniel found a small smile forming on her lips as she gazed upon the young girl's hopeful expression. 'Yes, I believe I might.'

'It is high time you go to bed, Tilda. In fact, I seem to recall I told you to go to bed an hour ago,' one of his eyebrows rose good-humouredly.

The young girl cast another, fascinated look on the She-Elf, then she sighed. 'All right. Good night, da.' She gave him a kiss, send one last look at the Elf, and left the room.

Bard was silent for a moment. When he was sure the girl was out of earshot, he turned his gaze back on Ardhoniel. 'If you are not here for the wine barrels, then why are you?'

'I heard a company of Dwarves passed through town recently; I heard you had a particularly strong opinion about them.'

Bard sighed deeply, but nodded, signalling for her to continue.

'Why is that?'

'Why do you want to know?' Bard countered. 'I was under the presumption that Dwarves and Elves care little about each other.'

'You are not incorrect. However, they were my… travel companions.'

His eyebrow rose slightly in question, but he said nothing in response to her admission. The Man was silent for a moment, flames dancing in his grey eyes as he gazed into the fire. 'There is a prophecy, foretelling the return of the King under the Mountain. While it speaks of the vast treasures that lie in that mountain, it also speaks of the burning of the lakes.' His gaze met hers, and held it, 'There is a live dragon in that mountain, my lady. Promises of gold and gems mean little to me in comparison to the wrath of a dragon.'

She was surprised by his words, not because the logic behind is was flawed, but because it had been very long since she had met a Man not sensitive to the call or fortune. 'You are a smart Man, master Bard.'

'Is that why you are here and not with your friends? Do you fear the wrath of the dragon?'

'No, I don't fear the dragon.' Ardhoniel responded honestly.

'Then what do you fear?'

'I fear what may come after. Many eyes will look at that mountain once the dragon is slayed. I have reason to believe a battle will be waged. And I fear for the lives of my friends.' While those words still hung heavily in the air, the Elleth rose from her seat. 'It is getting late, I have imposed on you for far too long already. I thank you for your hospitality, master Bard.'

'It was most fascinating,' Bard returned. 'Until next we meet, my lady. Which I have no doubt we shall.'

'Ardhoniel,' she said with a soft smile, as she stepped out into the cold and quiet evening, 'You may call me Ardhoniel.'


	37. Chapter 37

**Author's Note: Welcome back everyone! You are up for a very eventful character, so make sure to wear your seatbelts! (: Many thanks to _Guest45_ for their review of last week's chapter, although your comment did make me wonder: why do you dislike Bard? Now, enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter thirty-seven: I see fire**

It had been another day of frantic, but fruitless searching, only aggravated by the fact that today was their last chance. They had started on the grounds below at sunrise and, when this yielded no more results than it had in the last few days, Thorin had demanded they move back to the small, enclosed clearing by the flat slate of rock. At first, the Dwarves had resumed their careful search of the stone, calloused hands exploring every inch of the cold rock. Then, when the sun had started its descend from the sky and they were still no closer to the discovery of the key hole, they had picked up their axes and had attacked the rock with brutal power. And still, the key hole that would give them entrance to the mountain remained elusive.

Under the last, red rays of sunlight, Bilbo had sat down heavily on a small rock. As the Dwarves were still pounding desperately – and vainly – on the flat stone as the sun slowly sunk below the horizon, Bilbo realised that they had failed. Their Quest was over. They had had this one chance of finding the secret entrance to Erebor, and they had failed.

The Hobbit became aware of a quieting around him, and as he looked up he noticed that several of the Dwarves had also sat down heavily beside him in defeat. Although not a word was spoken, the shared despondency was almost palpable in the air. At last – and at the same time, far too soon – the last sun of autumn disappeared from the sky and Thorin's sword slipped to the ground with a echoing thump. All was quiet for a moment, realising but not yet truly accepting that their kingdom was well and truly lost.

Then, Thorin spoke gravely, 'We have failed. It is over,' he looked around him wearily, tired eyes meeting each of his companions'. 'You have done all that…-'

Bilbo was distracted by a small bird that had perched down on the rock beside him. It was holding a snail in its pointed beak, which it then – most vexingly, Bilbo thought – started to knock against the stone surface. Then, a distant summer memory returned to the Hobbit. 'A thrush!' He cried out, jumping up from his perch – and causing Thorin to turn to him with a raised eyebrow and a less than amused expression at being interrupted. 'It's a thrush,' Bilbo repeated, pointing at the bird. '"Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's day will shine upon the keyhole."' As he said those words, the Hobbit turned to the flat slate of stone. And noticed that the moonlight illuminated a small crevice in the rock.

'By my beard,' Balin exclaimed.

'The last light of Durin's Day,' Fíli whispered, eyes wide in awe.

'It's the light of the moon!' His brother realised, getting up painfully from his seat to run his fingers over the small indent. 'This is it. The keyhole to the secret entrance into the mountain!'

Thorin solemnly made his way through the crowd of Dwarves who all parted for their leader like the sea does for the rocks, the ornate key clutched safely in his right hand. A short, weighed moment passed in which he stood before the keyhole, then his arm extended, the key disappeared into the hole, and under no small protest, the ancient door unlocked.

Amidst the Dwarves loud exclamations of relief and joy, Bilbo stood somewhat forlornly. That is not to say that he was not joyous like them. However, now that the door was open, he was reminded quite painfully of the next obstacle – one that breathed fire, and could reduce them to a pile of ashes with a single puff of air.

'So what happens now?' He asked softly to Balin, who stood nearby. Somehow, the sound carried further than just to his neighbour, and the clearing went silent once more. What was worse, to his horror now all eyes were trained on them.

'Now,' Thorin started, an eerie sort of smile stretching his bearded cheeks as his eyes fell on the poor Hobbit, 'The time has come for you to prove your worth, Master Burglar.'

* * *

As it turned out, Neneth, Aglaron, and Bruihel had had some difficulties with acquiring the provisions for their upcoming journey to the mountain. The only food they had been able to procure was fish from the lake which would quickly spoil, and some black bread, which even now was stale enough to use as weapon in an upcoming battle. If that were not enough, it turned out any available horses had been gifted to the Dwarves when they left for the mountain days ago – leaving the company of Elves with no other choice but to make the journey on foot.

They left at the dawning of the second day after Ardhoniel's visit to Bard the Bargeman. The morning air was chill as they stepped outside the inn and into the slowly awakening town. Many a head turned as they passed through, many of the townspeople still not used to the presence of the Elves even after several days. Fortunately, however, none of them – despite their curiosity – approached them, and so the company marched out of town without delay.

By noon, they had left the lake behind them, and they had a simple meal of bread and fish on the scorched bases of some trees.

'We shall have to ration our food,' Aglaron said thoughtfully as he gazed at the wasteland around them, 'I doubt we shall be seeing any wildlife around here.'

'I had heard of a dragon's power for destruction, but to see it with my own two eyes..' Bruihel eyed their surroundings with sorrow. 'It is reminiscent of the _Berennyr_. No grass, no trees, or living creatures. It feels wrong.'

Little was said after this, but the sentiment was shared among all members of the group. The Elves finished their meals, repacked their bags, and resumed their journey up the steady slope towards the distant mountain. At nightfall, they camped on a rocky outcropping which, although it did nothing to shelter them from a potential downpour, provided them with a good view of the Long Lake in the south, and the Lonely Mountain in the north. It was a strange sort of in-betweenness, Ardhoniel thought; not part of the company she originally started out with, but not part of those simply carrying on with life either.

For one moment, the Elleth envisioned what would have happened had she decided to go home after all. Surely, her father would have been displeased with her, even angry, but she knew that his ire would have soon made place for his worry. A week would have passed before all returned to normal, and her adventure with the Dwarves of Erebor would have faded into history, soon to be nothing more than a wild summer dream. And with life falling back into the same old routine, she, too, would have to resume being the same old Ardhoniel. She did not know when that idea had become so aversive, but now found that somehow, at some point, it had.

'I shall take the first watch,' she announced as she leaned back against the stone outcropping, drawing her grey cloak closely around herself to ward of the chilly night air.

Aglaron nodded as he lay down next to his sister by the fire, 'Wake me up for the second.'

Silence resumed once more, and Ardhoniel was left with the realisation that the Ellon had become a lot more tolerable, if still not likable, over the course of their journey together – or perhaps she had simply learned not to provoke him. She wondered if it had anything to do with the young boy of Men, Éadig, that they had found and the bond that Aglaron had formed with him, or if it had always been there, silently waiting to be discovered. Whatever the case was, it appeared she was not the only one who had started to see the Ellon in a new light; although Bruihel and herself had only been joking at the time, Ardhoniel now believed they had not been completely wrong. Whether romantical or not, a bond had formed between the Captain and her Healer friend.

In many ways, Aglaron reminded her of Thorin – a comparison neither Elf nor Dwarf would be grateful for, she knew. Both strong, surly, and set in their ways, but with a good heart and something about them that made people naturally want to follow them. They were many of the qualities that Ardhoniel herself had often times wished to possess, but had lately have to accept she did not. She could only hope that when they would reunite at last, Thorin would find within him the same forgiveness that Aglaron had showed her.

Just then, a loud crash, like the cracking of thunder or the collapsing of a mountain filled the quiet night, and Ardhoniel sat upright. A heartbeat of silence followed, then the sound of gigantic wings as a large shadow passed over their encampment.

'What was that?' Neneth wondered sleepily, as the three resting Elves sat up on their bedrolls.

Even if she had wanted to, Ardhoniel could not answer immediately. With wide, horror-filled eyes, she gazed as Smaug, the greatest fire-breathing dragon of the Third Age, made its way to the south, its golden eyes fixed on the town on the Lake. 'Oh no.'

* * *

Tauriel and Legolas reached the entrance to the valley near Mount Gundabad at dusk, nearly three and a half weeks after first departing from Lake Town. When the Orcs had made for the entrance, the two Elves had carefully crept up the rock formation that guarded the left side of the entrance into the stronghold. By the time that they reached the ridgeline on top, the Orc pack had already vanished – to where, they did not know.

Beneath them, the barren valley, surrounded by the very northern outskirts of the Misty Mountains on one side and the western outskirts of the Grey Mountain on the other, was void of all life. In the middle stood a crudely constructed iron tower, but even in that great fortress of Gundabad, all was quiet.

'I have a bad feeling about this place, Legolas.'

The prince did not answer at first, and when Tauriel turned to him, she noticed his eyes held a far-off look. 'My mother died here,' Legolas admitted at last, 'Many, many years ago, in an age that our people still waged war on these lands. We do not speak of it; there is no grave, no memory. Nothing.'

Unsure of what to say to comfort him, the Captain touched his shoulder softly. 'Then let us vow to do better than our predecessors. Bolg did not ride here in such haste for nothing. They must believe the Dwarves will succeed in reclaiming the mountain – and be willing to wage war upon them for it. We might be the only warning the people of Esgaroth have.'

Just then, a light flickered in the great fortress, and Tauriel turned her eyes to the movement. 'There, I saw movement!'

Legolas now turned his sharp eyes to the Red Tower as well, all traces of sadness and vulnerability having disappeared behind the familiar, cold and confident mask. 'We will wait until their full army shows itself, until we know what we are up against. Then, we ride to Esgaroth with haste.'

* * *

The Elves watched as if paralysed as Smaug unleashed his full wrath upon Esgaroth. They were too far removed to ever reach the town in time – and even if they would reach it before it was reduced to ashes, Bruihel caught herself thinking, there was little they could do. Yet, they were close enough for the mighty roars of the great dragon to reach their remote campsite. Worse than the dragon's roars, however, were the screams of the town people; people that they had seen, had talked to only hours before.

She had grabbed hold of her brother's strong hand, much like she did when she was younger, when his presence would be enough to ward off any of her bad dreams or childish fears. But now even her strong and courageous brother stood powerless.

'We must return for them.'

It was Neneth, sweet, gentle Neneth, who had spoken with such conviction that none dared to question her. It was just as they started gathering their things that it happened.

The end. The attack of the dragon which seemed to have been endless, but had likely lasted no more than half an hour, had ceased. Bruihel turned just in time to follow Smaug's fall from the sky, the fire in his chest dimming even now. 'They did it,' she breathed in disbelief. 'They killed the dragon.'

* * *

That night, they slept out in the ruins of Dale, from where they had a clear view on what was left of the town on the Lake. However, in his dreams Thorin found himself back in the Gallery of Kings, where the stone beneath his feet was now covered by a thick layer of solidified, pure gold. He stared down at his own mirror image, completely transfixed by the wealth and beauty like the dragon had before him. His fingers ached to touch the precious metal, to feel its cold yet rich surface.

Another image joined his in the golden looking glass. She was dressed in the richest of blues, her blonde hair now shining like spun gold as it fell over her shoulders in soft waves. Thorin lifted his head to ask the real Elven lady why she was here, but found the words dying on his lips when his eyes connected with her grey ones. He stepped closer to her, only to have her sidestep him.

A tiny smile appeared on her lips and something flashed in her eyes too quickly for him to identify, as he noted at the same time that she was casually holding the Arkenstone in her left hand. Before he could reach out to her again, she started to circle him. 'The Lord of Silver Fountains, the King of Carven Stone,' she whispered even though the titles rang through the empty hall as if she had shouted them, and the words sounded hollow and meaningless to Thorin's ears, more mocking than praise. 'The King Beneath the Mountain, shall come into his own. And the bells shall ring in gladness, at the Mountain King's return. But all shall fail in sadness,' her voice had risen to a crescendo, so loud that they echoed off the high walls. Then it dropped, the words a mere breath to his ear, 'and the Lake will shine and burn.'

When she reappeared in front of him, her lips had stretched broadly into a terrible grin, and her eyes shone golden.

Just then, the gold beneath his feet deliquesced, and Thorin felt himself falling.

~ Berennyr = Brown Lands


	38. Chapter 38

**Author's Note: Hi all, hope you had a merry Easter (for those who celebrate it) and ate many chocolate eggs (for everyone!). I want to take this opportunity to thank you all for sticking with me until this point. It's readers like you that make the writing experience worth every bit of time, energy, and effort that goes into this story. A special thanks to _Guest45_ for the review(s). I absolutely adored your exploration of bullying and I think you are quite right. Especially in the movie verse, Thorin is made out to be the bad guy, when essentially his hand is also forced in a way by the presence of the Elves. I hope I have done some credit to your thoughts in this chapter. Now, enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter thirty-eight: War is coming**

They arrived back at the lake side by mid-morning – and they were not the only ones. Between the weathered, old, and wounded of Lake-town now stood an army of Elves, their bronze armour and helmets blinking in the autumn sun. With them were two carts of food and medicine, and to Ardhoniel's utter surprise, their King. The Ellon in question was seated regally on the back of a huge elk, and seemed to be deep in conversation with none other than Bard. From the whispers that she overheard as they passed into the large, make-shift camp, he was no longer a simple Bargeman.

'How I abhor that man,' Bruihel grumbled, as their little company made its way to the crowd. Now that an entire army of Elves had arrived, the people from Laketown did not think the presence of them quite as peculiar, she noted, and only a few heads turned at their passing.

'Yet he has arrived here with provisions and medicine, both of which the townspeople will be of high need of in the upcoming days, no doubt. Although you may not like him personally, that must redeem him to some degree,' Neneth argued reasonably.

Bruihel didn't know what to say to that, and luckily she didn't have to say anything for it was at this moment they reached the Man and Elf. It was Bard who took notice of them first, and he bowed his head politely at his acquaintance, and then at her companions.

'Lady Ardhoniel. And these are your friends, I presume?'

'Bard, it is good to see you alive and well. And to see that so many survived the inferno – although from what I have heard, they have you to thank for that.'

'I only did what had to be done,' Bard spoke humbly, then he smiled, 'But I am glad to see you alive as well, although I had not expected to see you here.'

'Indeed,' Thranduil agreed, his cold blue eyes piercing Ardhoniel's. 'When I saw you off from my kingdom with your guards near three months ago, you were headed for Lothlórien, then home.'

'We took a small detour.'

'So it appears…'

'Is there anything we can do to help, master Bard?' Aglaron stepped forward, his expression carefully neutral and voice diplomatic, successfully diffusing some of the tension between the Elven nobility.

'If you know anything of healing, please see to the more seriously wounded. Tell the others we will be departing soon. We have a long road ahead of us, and I want to find shelter before the winter sets in.'

'Where will you go?'

'The only place we can go,' Bard responded grimly, eyes resting on the looming mountain.

* * *

It was nightfall when the sound of horns echoed from the mountain walls, the gates and the base of the fortress opened. Out from it marched ranks upon ranks of Orcs and Goblins, all armoured and armed to the teeth and living for the one purpose of defiling and destroying all that is good in the world. Moving over to his friend, Legolas gently shook the Elleth awake.

'There is movement,' he informed her curtly, before moving back to his vantagepoint at the ridgeline. Soon Tauriel joined him, and together they watched as the vast power of Gundabad poured out and started their long march out of the valley and to Erebor. A loud screeching joined the sound of many hundreds if not thousands of feet, and the Elves looked up to find a swarm of massive bats, the likes of which they had never seen, flocking over the army.

'We must warn the others,' the Captain said, her voice betraying her uncharacteristic worry. When he did not respond immediately, she took hold of his shoulder, forcing him to meet her eye. 'Legolas?'

'An army this large cannot move fast; it will take them weeks if not months to reach the Lonely Mountain.'

'All the more reason for us to reach them in time to prepare.'

Legolas's gaze drifted off towards the valley below, his eyes seemingly drawn to the large metal structure that was like a blight on the surrounding lands. He could not explain his reasoning if he had wanted to, but there was something within Legolas that wanted answers – that _needed_ answers. 'Once they leave the valley, I will enter the Red Tower.'

'What? Legolas, surely you are not serious about going in there? Who knows what still lurks behind those walls.'

'I am not asking you to come with me, Tauriel. But in all these years, I have only been able to guess what happened to my mother. This place may contain the answers I have been looking for, for so long.'

He heard the Elleth sigh deeply, 'And I suppose there is nothing I can do to make you change your mind?'

'Not this time, my friend.'

'Then I shall go with you.'

He turned his blue eyes on her with startling intensity, hoping that would make her see reason if his words would not. 'No Tauriel, I forbid it. I will not see you come to harm on my behalf.'

A small smile played at the corner of her lips, 'Don't think I know not of the sacrifice you made on my behalf, Legolas. I am coming, whether you wish it or not.'

* * *

The going of the caravan of people was slow, and the month had nearly drawn to an end by the time they reached the ruins of the city of Dale. On Bard's orders, the people of Lake-town spread out between the dilapidated buildings, trying to find shelter in the less affected ones and search the others for anything that may be of use. The people of Lake-town were a hardy folk, used to the cold and a precarious existence. Most of them had known hunger and cold for at least some time in their lives – and they could only hope that that hardiness would save them now.

As his people settled in the ruins of the ruins of the great trading post, Bard and King Thranduil prepared for interrogations with the King under the Mountain. Noticing the Bargeman mounting his horse, Ardhoniel quickly stepped in and took hold of the reins, effectively delaying their departure. 'What are you doing?' She demanded, eyes flashing to the Elven King who was observing her from on top of his elk with an obvious air of disapproval.

'Asking for the compensation that was promised. We will need it if we are to survive the winter.'

'Thorin will think it an offense,' she started in a half-whisper, enunciating every word carefully, 'If you arrive on his doorstep with an army of Elven warriors.'

'Thranduil came to our aid with provisions without question. I do not know what business he has in that mountain, but I shall not send him away, Ardhoniel. Thorin made a deal with the people of Lake-town, that should not change with the presence or absence of the Elvenking.'

She had let go of the reins with no small degree of annoyance, knowing the Dwarf in mountain and knowing exactly how this would play out. Of course Bard would think the presence of Thranduil would make no difference, but she knew better: any hope of a fair trade may be ruiined by the the Elvenking's presence – let alone the presence of his entire army. But not entire, she suddenly realised. She had not seen the red-haired Captain among the ranks – solidifying her previous suspicion that the Elleth had ventured out alone – but not completely alone it appeared, for neither had she seen the King's son.

'Lord Thranduil,' she called out, just as they were about to ride off. 'Where are Captain Tauriel and my lord Legolas?'

The Elvenking's eyes steeled at her question, sniffing in disdain at her nerve to question him so openly about personal affairs, and for a moment Ardhoniel thought he would not deem her insolence worthy of a response. 'Not here, as I am sure you have noticed. The Captain is no longer welcome in my realm. As for my son, he will recognise the folly of his actions soon enough.'

* * *

That evening, Ardhoniel slipped out of the camp under the cover of darkness. Much like she had expected, rather than working to ensure the Dwarves' cooperation, Thranduil's presence had only put Thorin more on the defence. Negotiations had ended soon after. Although she had known the Dwarven King to be utterly stubborn and proud – and in this particular case, could not entirely fault him for not holding up his end of the deal, no matter his word – she had been taken back by the news that he had threatened to shoot if they did not leave at once. And it left a bad aftertaste in her mouth. The Thorin she knew would have never shot an innocent and honourable Man like Bard, in threat or for real. Whatever had happened in that Mountain, it was high time she interferred.

As she snuck through the encampment of the Mirkwood Elves that lay between Dale and Erebor, Ardhoniel felt for the first time ever since leaving Imladris that she had no trouble blending in with the crowd, and so she was left in peace as she made her way to the mountain. When she neared the fortified front gate of Erebor, she was surprised to find a rope already dangling down from the piled stone – and Fíli and Kíli sitting at the top, looking ever so skittish.

'I am surprised at your foresight, my friends.'

'Ardhoniel? Is that you?'

'Sssh,' Fíli hastily shushed him. Then, in a lower voice, 'We thought you had gone home.'

'I will – after we are done here,' she smiled. 'Would you let me up, I have important news for Thorin.'

At the mention of their uncle, Ardhoniel could see both of the Dwarves' faces fall even in the limited light that the moon provided. 'You cannot speak to Thorin,' Kíli answered abruptly.

'I know he's angry with me, but the news I have cannot wai...-'

'It's not that. Ever since we neared the mountain, Thorin has been acting… odd,' Fíli explained vaguely, his voice filled with an emotion that she couldn't quite place. Concern perhaps, or fear…

'We think it's the gold, that it is affecting him. He will hear no reason, has had us searching for days for the King's jewel,' his younger brother added.

'I have to see him,' Ardhoniel insisted.

'He might try to kill you,' Fíli said, his voice completely serious as he spoke those six words.

She hesitated for a moment, then took the rope in both hands and nimbly climbed up the rock wall. When she reached the top, she swung herself over the edge, landing on the small platform next to the two brothers. 'Tell me, where can I find him?'

* * *

Thorin was anxiously pacing back in forth in front of the throne. The nerve of that bowman to show up at his doorstep with an army of Elves and ask him to honour a forced deal. If that Man had any honour himself, he knew not to ask for that which he had no claim nor right to. Thorin knew why they were here, that they were after the famed Dwarven treasure, and he would swear now on the lives of his forefathers that he would not share one piece of that treasure with honourless snakes, liars, and thieves!

He stepped down from the raised dais onto the golden lake that stretched to the corners of the Gallery. This treasure. This gold. It was worth every life lost in the Quest to reclaim it. Lives of mortals would come and go, but this treasure… It was his, passed down from his grandfather, to his father, and then to him. Why should he have to share it? Very soon, his kinsmen would find the Arkenstone, the proof of his right to rule, and he would take his rightful place on the throne. Then, no one would ever dare question him again.

'Thorin.'

The Dwarven King turned with a start at the familiar voice. Even though he recognised her voice, he was unprepared to find the Elven lady herself standing in the middle of the golden lake, only several feet away from him. She was exactly like he remembered her, and yet more beautiful, radiant in the warm light of the gold beneath her feet. 'Ardhoniel…'

The She-Elf stepped closer, and now he could admire each of her fair features. The way the golden floor reflected off her fair hair that was twisted back in a simple braid, the way her silver eyes shone bright and warm as they gazed on him. Her high brows, sharp cheekbones, and sweet lips that his fingers ached to caress. She had traded in the light green dress she had worn at their last meeting for a silvery tunic, instead of the deep blue from his dreams. His dreams…

Eyes flicking down, his eyes burned holes in her empty hands. 'The Arkenstone,' he rasped, frantically searching her person for any sign of the precious gem. Stepping in, he roughly grabbed hold of her shoulders, 'Where is the Arkenstone? Where are you keeping it?'

Her eyes widened, pupils dilated as she struggled to get out his grip in vain. There was something entirely intoxicating about it, Thorin found himself thinking. She was afraid, he realised, she was afraid of him.

And that's when Thorin realised that this was not a dream. She was not a figment of his tortured mind. This was the same She-Elf that had helped them escape out of Rivendell, the same She-Elf that had offered her help without asking anything in return – the same She-Elf that had lied to them, that had betrayed them, and that had endangered his company not once, but twice. He tightened his grip on her tunic, pulling her face down to him, as he growled in her face, 'What are you doing here, Elf?'

'I need to talk to you, Thorin. I…-'

'You should have learned to know when you are not welcome, Ardhoniel of Rivendell, and have stayed away. When I said I had nothing further to discuss with you, I meant it, and wished I would have never had the misfortune of looking upon your treacherous face ever again. Leave my sight at once if you want to avoid harm to befall your person – consider my mercy a recompense for your "services".'

When he released her, she quickly scrambled to get away from him. The She-Elf ran towards one of the arched exits from the Gallery of Kings, while Thorin made his way back to the throne.

'War is coming,' he heard her say, the sad tone in which she spoke lost on him in his current state. 'Please do not forget the value of your own life and that of your kin when it comes.'


	39. Chapter 39

**Author's Note: Hi all! Welcome back to chapter 39. I always planned for this to be a fairly short story, but I really do suck at keeping things short haha. Anyways, as you will be able to guess from this chapter, the Battle of the Five Armies will soon be upon us and with that, the end of the story is also drawing near. I hope you all enjoyed the ride - I know I did! Many thanks to _Guest45_ and _Jhessill_ for their reviews of last week's chapter. You guys rock!**

* * *

 **Chapter thirty-nine: Much-needed council**

When the loud footfalls of the Orcs of Gundabad had long since died out and the valley was cloaked in darkness, Legolas and Tauriel started their descent. The world around them was strangely quiet now, as if all life had been sapped from the valley with the departure of the army – and perhaps it had. Tauriel hoped it had. She was not sure if they would find the answers Legolas was hoping for in the fortress of Gundabad, but she was more concerned with what else might be in there.

Red lights illuminated the structure against the dark mountains, and the Captain felt apprehension pool in the pit of her stomach as they crept closer. So far there had been no sign of life, but somehow that did little to set her at ease. When they reached the heavy, but still open gates, Legolas turned to her, his blue eyes searching out hers.  
'You should not come with me.'

'We have had this discussion, my friend. And if I should remind you, it was me who won. We do not know what's in there, and two pair of eyes and weapons are always better than one.'

Legolas looked displeased, but nodded nevertheless. Then, he steeled himself, and crept towards the open gates.

* * *

By the time she had returned to the camp, Ardhoniel still felt haunted by her encounter with the Dwarven King. Moreover, the few minutes of terror seemed to have sapped most of her energy, and she was more than ready to retire for the night. Alas, it was not to be.

'Where were you?' Bruihel demanded, arms crossed in front of her chest as Ardhoniel dropped herself down beside the younger Elleth. 'We searched high and low for you when he came asking for you.'

'There is someone who wishes to speak to you,' Neneth explained, always the voice of reason.

'Well, you may tell them that I will talk to them – in the morning,' she yawned, 'And if it's that awful Elvenking, you may tell him where he can stick it; I've had more than my share of arrogant, short-sighted royalty to spend me an eternity and a half.'

'Although I fully understand and agree with your sentiment, I must ask you to indulge me just once more, my lady.'

Ardhoniel almost instinctively tensed at the voice, and as she turned, her eyes were met with the familiar, haggard appearance of the Grey Wizard. 'Mithrandir,' she breathed 'You disappeared…' Then, shaking off her daze she quickly got to her feet.

'And I returned to find the Dwarves on the verge of war with the Men of Lake-town and the Elves of Mirkwood. And amidst that, your name was dropped. Tell me, lady Ardhoniel, why are you here and not in the mountain?'

A grimace contorted her face, and Ardhoniel looked down at her feet for a moment to hide her response. 'The Dwarves did not take kindly to my heritage, nor to the true reason I joined their Quest. I left the Company in the Halls of the Elvenking.'

'And yet you are here?' He raised one bushy brow, before taking out his pipe and stuffing it with some kind of weed. The aroma the soft breeze blew in her direction was a bit sweet, warm, and not altogether unpleasant.

'I was escorted to Lothlórien, where the lady Galadriel bid me to look in her mirror.' Her gaze met that of the Wizard, and she held it as the ominous words fell from her lips. 'He will die, Mithrandir. War is coming and Thorin will be caught in the midst of it.'

'So you came to warn him?'

'I tried…' She sighed, debating whether or not to inform him of that evening's events. The truth was, she'd rather not think back on her meeting with Thorin, not remember how his eyes had burned with a fierce possessiveness, how he had shown such complete and utter disregard for her life.

'And?'

'I fear for him,' she admitted at last, conquering her own cowardice. 'I entered the mountain this evening, Mithrandir. I hardly recognised the Dwarf in front of me. Betrayed or not, there was something terribly off about him.'

'It is as I had feared then,' Gandalf puffed on his pipe.

Ardhoniel waited several minutes, expecting him to continue. When he did not, and for all intents and purposes appeared to be deeply absorbed in his thoughts, she inquired, 'Mithrandir?'

'An illness runs in Thorin's family. A deep, obsessive desire for gold, so powerful that it drove his grandfather mad. Dragon sickness. I had hoped that Thorin would be spared a similar fate.'

'Then we must help him!'

'No. No we can't help Thorin with this. It is his own battle to wage; if he is strong, he will pull through.'

'That's not good enough,' Ardhoniel fumed, eyebrows drawn and hands balled into fists. 'We cannot just leave him to his fate!'

Mithrandir witnessed her anger with an utterly unimpressed but interested expression, before he waved his pipe at her, apparently having decided that pacification would be the best course in this situation. 'And we will not. While Thorin wages the battle with himself, a much larger war is looming on the horizon; one of which the outcome will influence the lives of many, and may even alter the fate of the world at large. Thranduil simply needs to be reminded that he has bigger things to worry about than some gems in a mountain; I could use some help in persuading him.'

Mithrandir sent her a meaningful look, gesturing in the direction of a large tent – and reminding her of his first words to her that evening. With a heavy sigh, she made to follow the Wizard, all the while thinking that this could not possibly be a good idea.

* * *

The inner courtyard was completely empty, as were the large halls that were connected to it. From there, they had silently descended a large staircase into a primitive dungeon. Needless, however, for again there was no one – at least no one alive. Legolas and Tauriel had quickly inspected the decaying corpses that inhabited some of the cells, but none looked even reminiscent to an Elven lady. Dejected, Legolas had led them back up the stairs and on to higher levels.

In one of the higher rooms, they found one Orc who was in the midst of scribbling something down in red ink in a book of some sort. Legolas quickly dispatched of the Orc, then studied the crudely written Black Speech that covered the upper half of the page, and detailed the departure of the large Orc army. 'It's a ledger of some sort,' Legolas said, as he flipped through the heavy pages of the book, noting the dates that were written at the top of each. I wonder…' Quickly flipping to the first page, he noted the date, and cursed under his breath. Then, he gazed around the make-shift office.

It was a surprise to find the Orcs had done any sort of bookkeeping at all, and Legolas thought it unlikely that they kept records as far back as the Second Age – let alone that such records would have survived the many attempts at cleansing Gundabad that had taken place until then. Still, he had to try. 'This one only dates back until five years ago. Search the room for anything from the Second Age.'

Half an hour passed in which they searched the office, but they found nothing that even hinted that at one point in time, an Elven lady had been held capture here. No amount of time spent here would clear up what had happened to the late Elvenqueen. Tauriel was about to gently point this out to Legolas, when the sound of heavy footfalls reached the room. Stepping out towards an embrasure, she spotted a company of Orcs, making their way towards the fortress from deeper into the mountains. 'Legolas, we must go.'

'I can't. This might be the only chance I ever have at finding the answers.'

'There's a company of about sixty Orcs out there, probably here to rehabilitate the Tower. This is our only chance of slipping out unseen.' Or indeed, at all, Tauriel thought grimly. 'I know you want answers about your mother's death, my friend, but I fear you shall not find them here, no matter how long we stay.'

'Then should I abandon all hope of ever finding out what happened to my mother?'

'Not all hope. You have a father to direct your question to, Legolas, one who loves you very dearly.' She spoke truthfully, her mind's eye drawn back for a moment to the bitter King that had banished her. Even though she had not always seen eye to eye with him, at least in their care for the Prince they had understood one another. 'Even if he does not realise it himself.'

Legolas opened his mouth to respond, but she quickly cut him off. 'Now is not the time to argue. Let us go now, before the Orcs reach the gates.'

The Elven Prince nodded curtly, and together the two Elves snuck out of the office, down the stairs, and out of Gundabad. Then, they started their long way back to the Lonely Mountain, where waited not only war, but hopefully, also answers.

* * *

'Since when has my council counted for so little? What do you think I'm trying to do?!' Mithrandir barked angrily at the Elvenking. So far, Ardhoniel had kept herself at the back of the tent, watching as the Wizard tried and failed to reason with the Elvenking. Meanwhile, Bard had also remained mostly silent as he listened to the Wizard's council.

'Do not believe me blind, Mithrandir. I know it was you who sent the Dwarves on this Quest. You started this; now you will forgive me if I finish it.'

'Armies are on the move, Dol Guldur has been emptied; war is coming! If you will not prepare yourself, _none_ of you will be left to quarrel over what fortune lies in that mountain.'

Thranduil sniffed disdainfully, 'I think I would have known if a legion of Orcs passed through my forests. Tell me, Mithrandir, where are these armies you speak of?'

The Wizard was silent for a moment, apparently unable to answer. Then, he suddenly turned, his eyes immediately finding the Elleth who was desperately wishing to become invisible against the green fabric of the tent flap behind her. 'The lady Ardhoniel has seen it.'

'She has seen these armies you speak of?'

Silence fell, and Ardhoniel realised that apparently she was no longer allowed to be a silent spectator. Taking a deep breath, she took a small step forward. 'When I was in Lothlórien, the Lady of the Forest allowed me a glimpse of the future in her mirror.'

'What did you see?' This time it was Bard, his expression intrigued as he gazed at her from across the tent.

'Death,' was her simple answer. 'I saw the snowy outlines of the mountains, and a frozen river strewn with the bodies of the fallen.'

'But no sighting of this mysterious army Mithrandir keeps speaking of?' Thranduil inquired.

'No, but…-'

'Then it is nothing more than a confirmation that the Dwarves are out of time. We shall ready the archers, tell them to shoot anything that moves on the mountain.'

'But, my lord, you do not understand. They…-'

His cold eyes narrowed on hers, and Ardhoniel found her next words dying on her lips.

Before either could say more, a breeze of chilly autumn air blew into the tent, and all current inhabitants looked up as suddenly a child-sized person, with curly brown hair and naked, hair-covered feet, stood in their midst.

'Bilbo Baggins!' Gandalf greeted cheerily, all remnants of his previous irritation disappeared.

'Bilbo,' Ardhoniel smiled broadly, squatting to pull the Hobbit in a fierce hug. 'I am so very pleased to see you.'

'And I you,' Bilbo said, then his eyebrows drew down in confusion. 'Although I am quite sure last time we met you said you were returning home.'

Before the Elleth had a chance to respond to that, Thranduil cleared his throat. 'If I'm not mistaken, this is the halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.'

Bilbo blushed a little at that, and looked extremely uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Ardhoniel was sending him increasingly questioning looks. 'Yes… I do apologise for that.' In the silence that followed, Bilbo reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a wrapped package, which he then carefully laid on the table that stood in the middle of the tent. 'I came to give you this.'

Subconsciously, all inhabitants of the tent drew closer to the table as Bilbo pulled back the wrapping, and revealed a pale, perfectly oval gem that seemed to emit a soft light from within its depths.

'The Arkenstone,' Ardhoniel breathed, mesmerised by its simple beauty. Now that she saw it, she could understand why Thorin, in his maddened mind, was so obsessed with it. Even without the political rights that were attached to it, it was absolutely breath-taking. 'The King's Jewel.'

'And worth a king's ransom,' Bard mumbled, dark eyebrows drawn as he gazed upon the gem. 'How did you come by this?'

'I took it as my share of the treasure,' Bilbo shrugged his shoulders.

'Why?' Why would you give this to us?'

'I'm not doing it to help you,' Bilbo admitted. 'I know what Dwarves can be like – probably better than most. They can be stubborn and very difficult, they don't trust outsiders, and are suspicious and secretive even to the very few they allow in. They hardly forgive,' here his eyes flickered towards Ardhoniel, 'And they never forget. But, they can also be brave and kind, loyal to a fault and when it comes down to it, will protect you until the very end. And I wish to do the same for them.' Bilbo sighed as his gaze returned to the precious gem on the table, 'Thorin values this stone above all else. If you return it to him, I do believe he will give you all that you are owed.'

A moment of silence followed as the tent's inhabitants tried to comprehend what exactly it was the Hobbit was offering. The Arkenstone. The King's Jewel. A chance at peace.

And knowing the Dwarven King, Ardhoniel could only wonder at what price it would come.


	40. Chapter 40

**Author's Note: Hello all, hope you all had a lovely weekend! As for me, I'm currently in the middle of writing my master's thesis so I'm pretty busy these days. Honestly, can't wait for it to be over, haha! Anyways, many thanks to _Guest45_ for reviewing last week's chapter (I know you dislike the bullying of Thorin; honestly, so do I. So sorry in advance for this chap!). About this chapter, it's a bit on the short side and I apologise for that; I didn't want to cut it off in the middle of the action, so I decided to do it like this. As you'll notice we are truly nearing the end now; you may expect two or three more chapters after this one. Anyways, enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter forty: The pieces assembled**

That night, Bilbo stayed at the Elves' campsite. Although a more comfortable sleeping place had been offered by Mithrandir, Bilbo had been unable to pass up an opportunity to reacquaint with his friend – especially as he was unsure when, if at all, he would have another chance to do so.

'So why are you here?' Bilbo inquired, after which his cheeks reddened in mortification. 'I apologise, that did not come out quite right. Perhaps I've been spending too much time with Dwarves lately,' he mused, as he took another spoonful from his vegetable stew. 'What I mean to say is that, well, I would have expected you to be back in Rivendell by now.'

Ardhoniel considered her answer as she played with the leek in her own stew. Could she tell the Hobbit of her vision? More importantly, _should_ she? It was her burden to bear, her obligation, and while she had told the Wizard, there was little the Hobbit would be able to do about it. And yet, despite her resolve, the lies came not as easily as they had done before. 'I was first brought to Lothlórien, where I caught word of an army of Orcs marching on the Lonely Mountain. I could not watch my friends go to war and stay behind myself.'

Bilbo nodded in understanding, before his face took on a sadder expression. 'So it was unavoidable. The war, that is. Whether I gave them the Arkenstone or not, war would have found us anyway.'

A delicate hand took hold of his smaller one and gave it a soft squeeze. When he looked up, he found himself looking into the Elleth's kind face, and he felt that unconditional goodness that he had associated with her so many months ago return to him. Despite himself, he felt his hope lifting. 'You did what only a true friend would, Bilbo. I see that, and Thorin will see it too, before the end. And even though war may have to be waged regardless, I would much rather fight against Orcs than fight against my friends.'

He hummed in agreement, and silence fell over them for some time while each considered the things that lay on their heart. For Ardhoniel, it was the Dwarvenking that she had at one point almost been able to call her friend, and his imminent death. For Bilbo, it revolved around quite the same Dwarf – and the jewel he had stolen from him.

'I have had it for a few days,' Bilbo admitted suddenly, 'The Arkenstone. I picked it up when the dragon… before it… What I mean to say is… Thorin is obsessed with the stone, had us searching the mountain for it day and night. I feared his obsession would only grow once he got hold of it. And so I kept it.'

'Then why give it to Thranduil and Bard to trade back?'

'Because I fear it's the only option we have left to avoid war amongst them. He speaks of nothing else, Ardhoniel – thinks of nothing else. I don't believe he even dreams of anything else.' At these words, Ardhoniel's mind flashed back to her own encounter with the Dwarvenking, where he had been convinced she was hiding the precious gem from him. 'He will not listen to reason when it comes to the Men and Elves camped on his doorstep. I fear the Arkenstone is the only thing that can sway him at this point.'

'You know he will not see it like this if they confront him with it. He will see it as betrayal.'

'I know.' Bilbo said nothing after this, and went to sleep soon after.

When Ardhoniel awoke at the breaking of dawn the next day, the Hobbit had disappeared, and the first snow fall of the year had covered the scorched earth under a thin blanket of silky white. She might have felt excited about her first experience with the powdery substance, had it not caused the lands around her to turn into her dreamscape. The board was set, the pieces assembled – and now all she could do was wait for the first move.

* * *

Her trepidation grew with each passing day, and each time she found her eyes wandering to the mountain, she felt the pit in her stomach grow. Her companions noticed it too, but without anything to soothe her worries with, they had wisely decided to give her and her high-strung nerves a wide berth. The only person who did not seem to avoid her was Mithrandir, and that was only the case because he seemed to be as dissatisfied with the entire situation as she was – although his dissatisfaction manifested itself in irritation with the involved monarchs, and hers in all-consuming worry.

'Do you think they will be successful; King Thranduil and Bard?' Ardhoniel found herself asking the Maia one day. They had been seated beside one another in silence for quite some time, after their latest and last failed attempt at reasoning with the Elven King and the newly elected King Bard. Tomorrow the two kings would ride up to the Lonely Mountain with the Arkenstone, to try at negotiation one last time.

'I have known Thorin Oakenshield for quite some time, and his father and grandfather before him. I've known him as a stubborn Dwarf and exceedingly proud, but just and honourable when it comes to his people.' His bushy eyebrows furrowed in thought, 'If he is truly affected by Dragon sickness, however, I do not know what to expect. I had hoped your presence might…'

'Might what?' Ardhoniel insisted when he did not continue.

A comforting smile flitted over his face, but it was not enough to extinguish the flicker of interest that burned in the Elleth's eyes, 'Nothing, it is nothing, dear. We will have to see how it turns out tomorrow. I can only hope your and Bilbo's accounts of him are incorrect.'

* * *

It was noon when they marched towards the Mountain; Thranduil, Bard, and Mithrandir at the front, Aglaron, Bruihel, Neneth and herself behind them – along with the entirety of Thranduil's army, Ardhoniel noted with contempt.

'Not a step closer,' was their greeting from atop the gate when they came within fifty feet from what was left of Erebor's once grand front entrance. The wall of debris that now filled the gaping hole was flat on top, Ardhoniel knew from experience, and on the top of it she recognised the faces of her friends. Most of them looked on with some degree of worry – but Thorin not. Thorin merely looked angry. 'Why have you come back? Did I not tell you that I will not engage in negotiations when there is an army of Elves on my doorstep?'

'Payment of your debt has been offered, King Thorin,' Bard responded calmly and respectfully, 'and has been accepted.'

'Payment,' Thorin scoffed, but even from her place on the ground she could see there was a definite tension in the way he said it. There was a strange flicker in his eyes, a tensed set to his jaw. 'You have nothing!'

'We were given this,' Bard reached into his robe and pulled out the Arkenstone. As he held it up for the Dwarves to see, the pale winter sun reflected mesmerizingly off the smooth surface of the gem. 'We will gladly return it if the King honours his word.'

'They have the Arkenstone?' Ardhoniel – and any other Elf – heard Kíli whisper frantically to his kin. 'How did they come by it?'

'I'll tell you how they came by it,' Thorin grumbled, his deep voice so menacing that even the aggrieved Dwarves around him found themselves taking a step back. 'A thief stole it!' And as he said those words, and Ardhoniel fully expected the King to turn on the small figure of the Hobbit that stood among the Dwarves, his eyes somehow found hers across the distance, burning into them with a fierce hatred. 'A thief that stole into the Mountain, whispering fake words of warning and using her womanly charms to steal the Arkenstone from right under our noses! Did you think I would not see you for what you truly are, Ardhoniel of Rivendell?'

'Thorin,' Gandalf stepped forth, his voice commanding and stern, effectively managing to pull the Dwarf's burning gaze away from her. 'The lady Ardhoniel had as much to do with taking the gem as I did. But it is not too late; we can still…-'

'I gave it to them,' it was Bilbo's voice that now drifted down from the rampart, and Ardhoniel watched as he bravely took a step towards the Dwarven King. 'I was going to give it to you, but…'

'But what, _thief_?'

At the harsh tone, Bilbo looked up from his feet, a hardened look to his face as he squared his shoulders and met the heavy gaze of the Dwarf. 'You changed,' he stated simply. 'The Dwarf I met in my home all those months ago would not have gone back on his word, no matter the circumstances. That Dwarf would not have risked war over petty quarrel. That Dwarf would not have doubted the loyalty of his own kin!'

'Do not speak to me of loyalty!' He moved up to the Hobbit, grabbing him by the front of his tunic and dragging him towards the edge of the rampart before anyone could step in. 'Curse the Wizard that forced you on this Company! Never again will I have dealing with Shire-rats, Elves, or Wizards!'

'You are not making a very splendid figure of King under the Mountain, Thorin, son of Thraín,' Gandalf remarked loudly, and the words paused the Dwarf's motions for a second. 'If you don't like my Burglar, then return him to me. Undamaged,' he emphasized, and something in his words must have stirred something in Thorin for he reluctantly released the Hobbit. 'I did not wish to believe the accounts I heard of you, but you have changed Thorin Oakenshield – and I would hardly say for the better. I bid you think wisely on your next actions, for your decision affects more than your own life.'

'Are we resolved?' Bard asked again, and effectively returned the conversation – if one could even call it that – to the matter at hand. 'The return of the Arkenstone for the compensation that was promised for my people.' Silence was his answer, and Bard grew inpatient. 'What say you? Will you have peace or war?'

An eerie smile stretched over the Dwarven King's face as he turned towards the Man, and Ardhoniel knew what his answer would be even before he spoke the words. When he did, the words cut through her heart like a knife – and she knew that he had made her next choice for her even before she had realised there was a choice to make.

She had come here to save Thorin, regardless of the risk, regardless of the cost. If it was to save him from the swords, spears, and arrows of her own kin, then so be it.  
Stepping forward, she was about to offer her sword to him in the upcoming battle when Mithrandir's staff hit her shins harshly, forcing her back behind him. 'Thorin will not take kindly to your offer of help,' he said, as if reading her mind. 'You are part of the enemy in his mind at this point.'

'But I have to save him!'

'Then you best make sure he doesn't catch you doing so,' Mithrandir noted, just as the deep call of a war-horn washed over the field, accompanied by a rumbling like the thundering of a summer storm.

In the north-east appeared a large figure, clad in heavy armour the colour of the richest gold, silver, and bronze, riding what appeared to be a gigantic, armoured hog. As he stood there, the sunlight reflecting off the noble colours of his armour, many more hundreds of heavily armed figures appeared behind him.

Ardhoniel was about to ask who they were – for they were surely no army of Orcs – when Mithrandir's frown deepened, and an exasperated expression overtook him. 'Ironfoot.'


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter forty-one: The clouds burst**

As Mithrandir pushed his way to the new frontline, Ardhoniel kept close on his heel.

'Who's that?' Bilbo's voice piped up from right behind her, and she threw a glance over her shoulder to confirm that the Hobbit had indeed, albeit unwillingly, changed sides. He looked a bit shaken from his latest encounter with Thorin, but seemed otherwise no worse for wear, fortunately.

'This is Dain, lord of the Iron Hills and Thorin's cousin. Him being here can only mean one thing…' They pushed out of the first line of Elven archers moments later, and the Wizard strode up to where the leaders of the armies were standing nearly toe-to-toe. 'Calm down, Lord Dáin,' he barked at the red-headed – and hot-headed – Dwarf that was up until then calling insults at Thranduil.

If he at all minded the harsh tone of the Wizard, the Dwarf did not show it, for when he turned to face the newcomer his expression was serious but polite. 'Gandalf the Grey,' he nodded then and, as his gaze returned to the Elvenking, he scowled, 'Tell this rabble to leave, or I'll water the ground with their blood.'

'Surely there is no need for violence between us.'

'And leave my little cousin to this scum? I think not.'

'A legion of Orcs march on the mountain as we speak,' Ardhoniel heard Thranduil scoff to the side at the Wizard's words, 'Stand your army down, Lord Dáin.'

'I will not stand down before any Elf – not least this faithless woodland sprite!' He looked ready to say more – most definitely nothing friendly – but Ardhoniel, this time evading Mithrandir's staff, stepped up.

'You cannot be serious? Would you truly risk your and your kin's life over some petty argument?'

'And who might you be?' Dáin barked, 'Does King Thranduil now even have servants do the talking for him?'

'She does not belong with me,' Thranduil intercepted, his cold eyes narrowing on the Elleth, as if daring her to object, 'Nor here at all.'

Grinding her teeth together, Ardhoniel was about to respond when a hand softly touched her shoulder. Momentarily distracted, she looked back to find it was Aglaron, an inconspicuous shake of his head letting her know his thoughts. With a deep breath, she stepped back and settled on glaring daggers at the Elvenking.

'Not that I'm not _awfully_ interested in your family quarrels, but we did not come here for a tea party. Did we now, boys?'

Just then, a deep drumming echoed over the plains. Like the rolling of thunder – or the marching of a great many feet in some semblance of harmony. For one single, terrible moment, Man, Elf, Dwarf, and Hobbit stared on in horror as hordes upon hordes of Orcs appeared on the horizon. Somewhere in the dark sea of creatures a horn was sounded, its deep and ominous call an unmistakable promise of pain and blood.

'The hordes of hell are upon us!' Dáin called out, the first to overcome his horror, 'To battle! To battle, sons of Durin!'

The Dwarves behind him screamed battle cries in Khuzdul, their deep voices resonating in quite the same way as the Orc horn had. Ardhoniel felt her own hand reach for the sword that hung by her side even as the Dwarves from the Iron Hills readied themselves for the oncoming battle. Only then did she become aware of the Elvenking and his army that still stood behind her – and had yet to move a muscle.

In that moment, the calm before the storm, Ardhoniel's eyes met with the calm orbs of Aglaron, the confident ones of Bruihel, and lastly the nervous ones of Neneth. This was it. For better or worse. All that had happened since they left Mirkwood, all that had happened ever since Ardhoniel had left her home, had led them to this very moment. The decisive battle. The difference between life and death – of themselves, and of their loved ones. If there was any doubt left about the choices that led her there, they were erased the moment she locked eyes with her companions. Her friends.

Mere seconds passed before the Orcs reached the shield wall the Dwarves had built, massive spears pointed outwards towards the vile creatures. Then, just before the creatures crashed on the shields like water on rocks, the Elvenking gave a tiny, near imperceptible nod – and his warriors sprang into action.

The battle unfolded around them quickly, Elves, Dwarves and Men working seamlessly in cutting back the Orcs as if they had never done anything else. However, there were a great many of the creatures and, despite their efficiency, the first line of Dwarves and Elves soon let through a steady trickle of Orcs. Faced with a whole army of the loathsome creatures, Ardhoniel felt the familiar cold fear crawl through her veins, paralyzing her limbs and causing her sword to go slack in her hand. It earned her a hard blow to the side – luckily not piercing her skin – before Bruihel stepped in and decapitated the offending Orc. A sharp look from her friend was all it took to shake the lethargy from her arms, and soon Ardhoniel lost herself in the battle, too. As she did so, her body going through all the motions that had been drilled in it over the course of the last fifty years with increasing ease, all else was temporarily wiped from the Elleth's mind as she hacked, stabbed, and slashed at every Orc that as much as looked in her direction.

A fierce battle cry, followed by loud cheering, drew Ardhoniel's attention away from the seemingly endless waves of Orcs. Finishing her opponent with a slice to its jugular, she turned to find the Dwarves had rallied before the blocked entrance of Erebor, at the very head of the army a sight that made her heartbeat quicken. A noble figure, raven hair streaked with silver, and a fire burning behind his blue eyes. Then, wearing naught but a simple blue tunic and his worn heavy boots, an Elven sword and an octagonal Dwarven shield in each of his hands, he looked more kingly than she ever remembered him. Her own blood pumping through her veins more vigorously at the sight, Ardhoniel threw herself back into the battle with a newfound force, desperate to make her way towards Thorin.

With each slain foe, she felt the distance between herself and Thorin shrink. With each Orc that fell at her feet, she could see him clearer and clearer, until at last a mere sixty-five feet separated the two of them. She called out his name, but the sound was lost in the chaos of battle.

Just then, an Orc horn resounded once more across the battlefield, and a signalling device of some kind on Ravenhill heralded the arrival of another army, this one from the West – and making its way straight for the ruined city of Dale.

The new Orcs were cruel and vicious like their kin from Dol Guldur, but they distinguished themselves from them by their height and a different make of their crude armour and weapons – branded with a mark that identified their origin as the stronghold of Gundabad.

In the next moments, the battle around them resolved into pure confusion, in which Men and Elves scrambled to make for the city. For Ardhoniel, it took all her power not to be swept away with the changing tide, and when the chaos died down, she had lost sight of the Dwarven king. The Elleth used her superior height to scan the battlefield, but for all intents and purposes it appeared as if Thorin had disappeared in thin air. With increasing panic, and scenes from her vision flashing before her mind's eye, she tried to fight her way closer to the mountain, but it was like swimming against the tide, and she felt desperation set in. She needed to get to him; she _was going_ to get to him. To save him. At this point, she dared not even think about the possibility of failing, even when she felt the familiar fear slowly creeping back into her veins.

At the sound of her own name being called, the Elleth turned almost instinctively, slightly dazed as she watched Men and Elves rush by. It was Neneth, expression troubled and her silver eyebrows drawn together. 'He's not here,' she called, trying to be heard over the racket of battle. When her friend showed no sign of understanding at her words, she continued, 'The stone structure from your vision and the frozen river; it's Ravenhill. Thorin's not here; he's up there,' and as she pointed at the crumbling and scorched structure on top of the hill, on which stood the signalling device that she had seen before, everything clicked. That's where the Orc leaders would be. That is where Azog would be. As realisation finally set in, Ardhoniel felt her heart stop. They may already be too late.

Fortunately, Neneth seemed to wordlessly understand her still-developing plan, as well as her haste, for the silver-haired Elleth disappeared in the crowd only to return moments later with the blonde siblings that made up the last members of their company. Both were covered in black blood, but luckily seemed to have gotten out unscathed themselves so far.

When they had gathered, Ardhoniel declared, 'I'm going up to Ravenhill. I do not know how, nor what I'll find there, but I have to do it. However, I do not expect any of you to. You accompanied me all this way; I cannot ask for more than that.'

'We have been your companions for these last few months,' Neneth agreed, one of her hands reaching up to clasp Ardhoniel's shoulder. 'We will not abandon you now you need us most.'

'We'll stick with you, Ardhoniel,' Bruihel nodded in confirmation, 'To the very end.'

'There's a stairway,' Aglaron spoke suddenly, his words though less sentimental, no less appreciated. 'I spotted it first when we made camp. It winds around the rock up to the plateau. It will take us a bit, but I don't think we have any other choice.'

'Then we'll do it.'

With renewed strength, the Elves let themselves be swept up in the tide that forced them in a general eastern direction. After they passed the beseeched city of Dale, it got considerably easier to move and they broke out in an all-out sprint when they reached the winding stairs Aglaron had described. In their haste, it took them but fifteen minutes to reach the plateau, but it felt like hours had passed. The racket of battle had since died out, left behind them on the battlefield below, and the air around them became uncomfortably heavy and stiff. When they reached the top of the stairs, they came to an abrupt halt, and hid behind a large piece of stone debris.

There stood Thorin, Dwalin, and Bilbo on the snow-covered stone foundation of the once great watch post, their backs turned to the Elves as they stared up, as if frozen, at the highest tower of the ruins. Following their gazes, Ardhoniel felt time come to a standstill. The words of the Pale Orc washed over her like a wave, but their meaning hardly registered in her mind; her eyes were fixated on the Dwarf that was fighting desperately to get out of his grasp. 'Fíli…'

* * *

 **Author's Note: So as you may have realised, there's no wereworms in my story and the reason for that, plain and simple, is that I really _really_ disliked their appearance in the movie. Sure, Tolkien did mention them (although never specifying what they were exactly) and sure, artistic liberty and all that jazz, but I don't know. It just felt weird and silly and I was not on board with them at all. And so I left them out. Sorry if anyone disagrees with me on their appearance in the movies and their absence in my story.**


	42. Chapter 42

**Author's Note: Here we are, at the last real chapter of this story. I want to thank _dearreader, Child of Dreams,_ and _Guest45_ for their reviews of chapter 41. I guess about this chapter I just want to say that it took me a lot of effort to write it and I truly hope I have done it justice. And that I am sorry. Now, for the second to last time, one with the story!**

* * *

 **Chapter forty-two: To bid you farewell**

She was already reaching for the bow on her back when she paused. Wasn't this exactly what had gotten her into this mess to begin with? Her playing the hero. Her trying to make things better. From the very start, it seemed everything she had done with the intention to help had only managed to worsen the situation. On her word the Dwarves had taken refuge from the storm in a cave that later turned out to be the doorstep of Goblin Town. Under her guidance, they had lost the Elven path and had eventually been ambushed by spiders, only to break free and be caught by the Elves of Mirkwood. Why would this be any different? Perhaps for once she should keep herself on the side line. Perhaps for once, she should just let it all happen as it was supposed to.

Even as her mind made its rational plea, her heart revolted. Images of Fíli flooded her mind. He had been the first of the Dwarves to truly be kind to her, going as far as to apologise for his brother's mindless, but not ill-meant, behaviour. Many more flashes of his joking, laughing, and teasing – and she wished she had taken more time to truly get to know him. But it was not too late. She may not always have succeeded, but at least she had tried – at least she had cared. If there was one thing that she had always taken pride in, that she had always found separated her from many of her kind, it was her capacity for compassion.

Only seconds had passed when she returned her focus to the still struggling Dwarf, eyes narrowed in concentration. If she could only surprise Azog he might slacken his hold on Fíli in the process… However, from their angle, she knew that with his trashing, it would only be too easy for an inexperienced archer like herself to hit the young Dwarf instead. But she wasn't alone. For once, she didn't have to do everything herself.

She turned her head and her eyes met briefly with the steely blue ones of the Captain, no words needing to be said as he swiftly cocked an arrow, took aim, and let it fly. Ardhoniel's heartbeat stopped as she watched it sail across the ruin, narrowly missing Fíli's shoulder, and embed itself firmly in the Pale Orc's forearm. With a cry, he let go of the young Dwarf, who made the 15-feet plummet to the snow-covered ground – where he remained still and lifeless. For one, terrible moment, Ardhoniel could only watch as Kíli, face pale and grief-stricken, stared at the motionless body of his older brother, before he roared and sprinted off into the ruins, Thorin rushing after him. When silence once more fell over the scene, she ran over to the body of the young Dwarf, and dropped down by his side.

'Fíli,' she whispered, eyes burning with tears as she softly stroked a lock of his dirtied hair from his face. She could swear that his nose twitched at her touch, but she dismissed it as a trick of her mind. ''I am so sorry.'

At these words, his eyelids fluttered open, eyes unfocused until they settled on her face and he smiled – before a grimace took over his face. 'Ardhoniel.'

'How… You… you fell!'

'I'm a Dwarf, Ardhoniel. We're a hardy folk – unlike you prissy Elves,' he attempted to joke, but it fell flat as his face once more contorted in pain. Just then, a loud battle cry made her look up with a start, the sound echoing through the dilapidated ruins – and painfully clenching her heart. Thorin.

'Go,' Neneth kneeled down beside her, her pale hand resting on Ardhoniel's shoulder reassuringly. 'I will look after him.'

The silence was broken as Orcs flooded the ruin, and Aglaron pulled out his sword in one smooth motion as he stepped in between his friends and the Orcs. 'I'll stay with you.'

Ardhoniel wished to object, but another scream – one she wasn't sure who it belonged to – pierced her ears, and she felt herself stand up almost automatically. With Bruihel on her heels, she raced towards the sound of the scream. They didn't get far, however, because as soon as they reached the top of a set of worn stairs, they stumbled upon a first battle. She couldn't count the number of Orcs at the scene, but was quick to locate their sole opponent – a broad and bulky Dwarf, swinging around two giant axes. He was doing a good job at keeping them at bay, but Ardhoniel noticed that more and more Orcs were pouring into the scene with every second that passed.

Drawing her own sword, she charged at the closest Orc and slashed it mercilessly across the length of the creature's back. When it collapsed to the ground, she turned, already drawing back her sword to decapitate the head of another. In between her kills, she caught sight of both Dwalin and Bruihel as they hacked, slashed, and stabbed away at the vile creatures with practiced ease. Ardhoniel herself was almost falling into a near comfortable routine, noting that the horde of Orcs was finally seeming to slim, when she was shoved to the side, and landed harshly against the stone wall. Slightly disoriented, she was just in time to bring up her sword to avoid having her head separated from her shoulders. The Orc that had singled her out stood broad and tall, even towering over her lengthy stature, and wielded a vicious looking dark blade. She could do nothing but attempt to block his attacks, for he had managed to drive her into a corner. Her distraction at this realisation was enough for him to strike again, this time with success, and she felt the blade easily slicing through the flesh of her upper sword arm. Suppressing a hiss, she clenched her sword more tightly in her hand, eyes flashing with fire. However, to her surprise he did nothing. In fact, his eyes grew wide, as if in terror, and then, he sank to his knees. Bruihel's lithe form appeared from behind him, pulling out her sword that was buried in the Orc's gut.

'I'll hold them off; go find Thorin.'

This time, perhaps partly due to the shock, the Elleth did not need to be told twice before she fled from the battle. Stumbling through the ruins of the old watch tower, ignoring the painful throbbing and steady blood loss from her upper arm, all sound of battle vanished and an all-compassing, stifling quiet surrounded her. No more clanking of metal against metal. No more screams of anger, anguish, or pain. Just then, her feet found the familiar, worn, and snow-covered steps that she had descended so many times before in her dreams. And would now, one final time.

* * *

When they arrived at the scene, Tauriel feared it was too late. Orcs had already flooded the plains between the Lonely Mountain and the ruined city of Dale, killing each and every Elf, Man, or Dwarf that stood in their way. But then she noted that these Orcs looked different. Smaller, with a different make of armour and weapons – a make she recognised only too well. Dol Guldur.

'These are not from Gundabad,' Legolas called to her, obviously coming to the same conclusion, as he cleaved one of the creatures' head off. 'I do not know where…-'

Just then, Tauriel's eyes spotted movement on the dilapidated watch that loomed over the field from the west. Some kind of battle. Between giant Orcs and small, stout figures. 'There!' She interrupted, even as she realised that one of the short figures' movement seemed awfully familiar to her. 'Kíli…'

Without wasting another second, she pushed her legs into motion, ignoring her name being called behind her. All thought of Legolas, of any of the people behind her, disappeared from her mind as she raced up the stairs that led her to the watch post. Tauriel rushed through the ruins of the tower, killing Orcs left and right as she desperately searched for her friend. Many times she could swear hearing his voice, but it must have been the wind or her mind playing tricks on her, for Kíli was never there. Rushing up another stone stairway, she came back out in the open on some form of terrace – and face to face with a scene she had never hoped to see.

Kíli was slumped on the ground, a large blood stain on the side of his stomach, right arm bent unnaturally, left hand holding his sword awkwardly in front of him in a last attempt at defence, facing down the giant Orc she recognised as Bolg, son of Azog. For a moment the young Dwarf's eyes met hers, surprise filling the orbs that had until then held desperation, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly at her. He had resigned himself to die, Tauriel realised. But she had not.

With a fierce battle cry, she propelled herself onto the giant Orc's back, one of her daggers lodged in between the plates of his shoulder armour. Bolg roared in pain, then grabbed hold of her tunic and swung her a couple of feet away. Hastily getting back to her feet, Tauriel charged once more, her curved sword clashing against the crude iron of the Orc's mace. Lowering her sword, she ducked swiftly to avoid the swing of his weapon and, using her momentum, she swung her blade against the inside of his knee, causing it to give in. Getting back on her feet, she drew back her weapon once more, ready to deal out a fatal blow to his now uncovered neck.

'Tauriel, watch out!'

Acting purely on instinct, the Elleth ducked, feeling more than seeing the crude sword cleaving the air where her head had been only a moment before. It took her but a second to get back on her feet, bringing up her sword to block another assault from the new Orc. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Bolg was once more advancing on Kíli. It was but a moment of inattention, but it was enough. The Orc's blade slashed viciously across her torso, metal cutting through fabric, skin, and flesh before coming into contact with bone. With a loud cry, induced with pain, anger, and desperation, Tauriel swung her sword at the creature once more, taking it by surprise, and separating his head cleanly from his shoulders.

The pain in her ribs was excruciating, and her breathing came out in pants, but there was no time to catch her breath. Instead, Tauriel gripped her sword with two hands, 'If you want him, you shall have to kill me first,' she growled at the giant Gundabad Orc, effectively causing it to halt its advance on the Dwarf.

When he turned on her, his eyes were empty and cold, like those of a predator, and he smiled maliciously at her. 'Step away, She-Elf, if you value your life.'

'I will not let you touch him.'

The Gundabad Orc said no more, but instead closed the distance between them with one step of his good leg, and brought his giant mace down on her.

Tauriel blocked the weapon above her head with difficulty. Her muscles were screaming at the force, the pain in her ribcage increasing at the raising of her arms. Grinding her teeth, she pushed him off with a loud scream, and started her own attack on him. But her strength was slowly leaving her, and her movements became slower and less coordinated, and in between two swings of her own sword, the Orc broke through her defence and his mace made contact with her wounded ribs with full force.

For two seconds she was airborne. then her back made contact with the stone wall behind her painfully – and she felt the breath being knocked out of her, the previously bruised ribs now broken without a doubt. As she slumped dazedly to the floor, Tauriel watched him advance on her once more and she reached out to grab her sword from where it had fallen. Just as her fingers grazed the hilt, a heavy foot stamped down on her wrist brutally, and she heard as much as felt the bones break. The Orc looked down at her once more, as if daring her to get up again, and then turned its back on her to return his attention to the barely conscious Dwarf sitting slumped against the opposite wall.

Across the distance, their eyes somehow found each other again, and Kíli's expression was so sad, so void of all hope, and so utterly unlike the Dwarf that she had come to know that the sight of it almost hurt Tauriel more than the wounds she had been dealt. She had failed him. She may or may not survive this, but she would always have to live with the knowledge that she had not been able to save him.

Something sparked within her once more. Anger, perhaps. Maybe desperation. Or perhaps it was simply the burning desire to make a difference in the world. And as she stumbled back on her feet, clenching a dagger in her right hand and a fierce look overtaking her face, she knew she would not die for nothing. With all the strength that she had left in her, she charged at the Orc one final time. She grabbed him around the waist, dagger sinking deep into its stomach, and Bolg stumbled and, under their combined weight, toppled over the edge of the terrace.

As they crashed down onto a plateau many feet below, Tauriel's last thought was that when she would see her parents again, she would not have to be ashamed.

* * *

When the battle was finally over, Bruihel did not know how she managed to find her way back to the large square where she had last seen her brother and Neneth. Her limbs were heavy, her feet heavy like lead, and her right eye was crusted over with dirt, blood, and painful bruise that covered most of that side of her face and faded into her hairline. However, all of her own pain was quickly forgotten the moment she crossed back into the square and noted Neneth still in the same place, crying over not one but two motionless bodies. Anxiety clenched her gut painfully as she approached, and when she neared the Elleth, her deepest fears were confirmed when she recognised the pale gold of her brother's hair.

Sinking down next to them, she took hold of one of his hands, bringing it to her lips to plant a soft kiss on it, but it felt cold and limp, and not at all like she remembered it. His hands had always been strong and warm, as Aglaron had been himself.

'He died protecting me,' Neneth choked out, her face wet with tears as her glinstering eyes met Bruihel's.

'Then he died honourably. Then he died protecting something he loved.'

* * *

She spotted him as soon as she stepped onto the ice. Like in many of her dreams, he was in the middle of the icy river, standing before the lifeless corpse of his foe. Azog. He stumbled around, feet dragging as he turned his gaze back to the old watch tower – and their eyes found themselves across the distance. There was something there, but before she had a chance to name it, the Dwarven King sank to his knees, and then collapsed completely.

The sword slipped from her grasp, clinking as the metal hit the icy underground, but Ardhoniel hardly noticed. The ice was slippery beneath her feet as she rushed up to Thorin, and the cold permeated the fabric of her breeches as she dropped down on her knees beside him. 'Thorin,' she whispered, grabbing onto his hand, while her mind was only aware of one thing. She had failed him. Despite her dreams, despite her efforts, it had all been in vain.

His eyes fluttered open, gaze somewhat unfocused. 'This is all my fault,' he choked out, 'Fíli…-'

'Will be all right,' she managed to say assuringly, despite the lump that blocked her throat. 'I promise.'

'You came back.'

'Yes, of course I came back. You are my friends.'

'I was so unki…-'

'Sshh,' she told him, rubbing his bruised and cracked knuckles. 'It does not matter now, Thorin. Your nephew is safe, now let me save you.'

With her free hand, she carefully pried open the dirtied and bloodied fabric of his outer tunic. Beneath, the clothes were even more torn and bloody, and at times she could look directly on the wounds. She felt her heart drop at the sight and instinctively flinched as she let the fabric once more cover up the truth.

A soft, nearly imperceptible squeeze from his hand returned her gaze to his face, and when his blue eyes met her grey ones once more, he managed a wan smile. 'You already did – in more ways that I could ever tell you. But you cannot save me from this.' He drew another breath, face marred in pain, but continued nonetheless. 'I was wrong in my treatment of you.'

'No, no you were completely right about me. You were right all along,' she admitted, her eyes clouded by tears as she gazed upon his once handsome face, now battered and bloodied and broken. She squeezed his hand a little tighter, as if it was a lifeline that would keep him with her. As if with that simple act she could save him.

'I was wrong, but I think I have figured out your character at last, Ardhoniel of Rivendell. Your value lies not in the strength of your arm or the truth of your aim. It is in your stubbornness, in your kindness, but above all in the conviction of your heart to do what is right.' He coughed, his chest rattling as he tried desperately to draw air into his punctured lungs. 'Go. Go home, Ardhoniel, and never again question your place in this world.' He coughed more violently, and she clung onto his hand more tightly. There were words on her lips, but no matter how hard she tried, they would not fall.

And suddenly there was the Hobbit, a comforting hand on her shoulder that brought her back to reality. She noticed a soft expression overtake Thorin's face.

'Bilbo,' he spoke with great difficulty. 'I am glad you are here, at the end of my time.'

Ardhoniel planted a kiss on each of the dying Dwarf's split knuckles, then let go of his hand reluctantly. Blood, dirt and tears marred the last view she had of him, but she forced herself to take it in all the same. When she stood, she patted Bilbo softly on the back and said softly, 'Stay with him, Bilbo. To the end.'

As she walked away from the scene, each step feeling as if a piece of her heart was torn to shreds, she reminded herself that Thorin was never hers to keep. And now he was not hers to let go.


	43. Epilogue

**Author's Note: Hi all and welcome back to the very last chapter of Bâhukhazâd! It's been such a journey writing this story and I am very grateful to everyone who came on this adventure with me. It started out from the very basic question of what would happen if someone less than adequate would tag along with the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, and grew into something that I am actually very proud of. I want to thank Child of Dreams, dearreader, 8, and Guest45 for reviewing the previous chapter, and want to thank Guest45 in particular for their constant support and feedback throughout the entire process.**

 **I have two notes for the interested reader. One, concerning Thorin's death, I want to say that although I am terribly sorry for letting him die, I do not regret it. In fact, I planned for him to die from the very start. Ardhoniel is not a perfect heroine, hers is not a story of great deeds and heroics. At its essence, Bâhukhazâd is a story about someone who is flawed, but good at heart, and is just trying to their very best at making things right. However, your best is not always enough and I think that's also why I chose for Thorin to die; no matter how much you want something, sometimes it's simply not enough. That being said, I do truly feel bad about killing Thorin, as well as Tauriel and Aglaron.**

 **Which brings me to my second note: Aglaron's death and a realisation I had only two days ago. I know that this will sound as if I'm trying to twist the knife even further, but I wanted to share it because it touched me so. I was actually listening to "In the ghetto" by Elvis Presley when I was suddenly reminded of Éadig and the special bond he shared with Aglaron. And then I realised that Aglaron would never return for his dagger – and that made me very sad.**

 **Now, without further ado and for the very last time: enjoy the story!**

* * *

 ** ** **Epilogue: Homeward bound******

Ardhoniel was slowly circling the Gallery of Kings, trying to focus on the intricate details of the architecture and on the stories the wall-paintings told her, and not on the memories she had of this place. It was impossible to avoid her recollections however, especially as she was waiting for the ending of the burial of the very same Dwarf that haunted her memories.

She had decided against going to the ceremony. It was a coward's decision, of course, but even the realisation that it was wasn't enough to overcome her reluctance. The grief was too fresh, the wound still open and bleeding, and she wasn't ready yet to face it all head on. Besides the matter of her own emotions, she preferred her last memory of the late Dwarven King to be of him covered in dirt and blood but alive, over all cleaned, and polished, and dead. Now that she was here, however, waiting for it to be over, she almost doubted whether the reality could have been worse than the images her mind had conjured up.

At long last, heavy footsteps, accompanied by deep voices, reached her ears. There were a good many of them, and when Ardhoniel closed her eyes, she could almost imagine the Gallery of Kings as it once was, full of life – and as it would be once again.

She drifted over towards the raised dais that held the empty throne, a indent directly in the stone above the seat marking the absence of the King's Jewel. She had little time to think about what might have happened to the stone, for just then a large number of Dwarves appeared at the archway leading into the Gallery. Many of them she had shared adventures with, one she recognised from the past battle, and many more that she couldn't put a name to. At the very front of the caravan, she found the King under the Mountain and his younger brother.

Fíli threw one glance at the throne before he turned to Balin and exchanged a few words with him in Khuzdul. Then, he motioned for her to follow him and Kíli.

As she trailed the two brothers through the quiet halls of Erebor, Ardhoniel used the silence to discreetly observe the two young Dwarves. Fíli walked with a noticeable limp to his left leg, and when he had looked at her she had taken note of the scrapes and bruises that covered most of the same side of his face. His brother's right arm was bandaged and held up in a swing. Moreover, he had a stiff manner about him when he walked, which she suspected was caused by a wound to the stomach. Like his brother, his face was covered in bruises and tiny cuts and scrapes.

In the few days that had passed since the battle, she had heard many versions of the tale of how the youngest Durin had survived, most including a red-haired Elvish Captain, and the tremendous sacrifice that she had made to save him. Although the loss of one she had counted among her friends grieved her, the fact that the Elleth had followed her heart and had succeeded where she had not made the pain a little easier to bear.

They stopped in front of an heavy wooden door, intricate patterns cut out of the wood in octagonal designs, straight lines, and other geometric shapes and figures that looked delicate and strong at the same time. In the stone above the door were etched several unfamiliar runes. 'Thrór's study,' Fíli clarified, as he pushed open the door. 'It is one of the few rooms untouched by the dragon – and I for one much prefer the intimacy it provides over the Gallery of Kings.'

She nodded in understanding, taking the offered seat by the unlit hearth as the two brothers sat down opposite from her. 'It is a very beautiful room,' she said earnestly, as she took in her surroundings with wonder. A gigantic bookcase covered the entire wall to the left of her, the books it held looking dusty and ancient, and very valuable. A large chest was placed next to the door through which they had entered, no doubt guarding many of Erebor's most important documents from when Fíli and Kíli's great grandfather still ruled the Mountain. Against the wall that did not hold the fireplace stood a giant desk, fashioned in the same heavy wood as the door through which they had entered. Large scrolls and papers were strewn across its surface, whether still from the time that King Thrór would sit at his desk or from a more recent time, she did not know.

'Please thank your friends for their assistance, both in battle and in the aftermath,' Fíli spoke at last, causing her to return her focus to him and the conversation at hand.

'I shall.'

He nodded, 'I am told one of them died in battle?'

'That is true. He died valiantly protecting one that he cared for deeply.'

Uncomfortable silence fell over the room once more. It was a silence pregnant with words left unsaid, but that the room's inhabitants, weighed down as they were by recent events, grief, and newfound roles and responsibilities, couldn't say. At last it was Fíli again who broke the silence. 'I was trained as Thorin's heir and heir to the throne of Erebor ever since I was a young Dwarfling. However, now that I am here, I feel wholly unprepared.' When his eyes met hers, there was a certain childishness, a certain vulnerability, that she had never before associated with him. The words meant all the more because she knew what it was like to have to live up to a great parental figure – and to feel like one is falling short.

'I am sure you will make a great King,' she found herself saying, and she meant it. 'The greatest Kings are not those with the silverest of tongues, or with the strongest arm, or even with the wisest minds. They are the ones that care deeply and earnestly about their Kingdom and its people. And do not forget that you do not have to carry this weight all alone. You have your brother and your kin – they will be there for you no matter what.'

'I'm glad you are here, Ardhoniel.'

'And Thorin would have been, too,' it was Kíli who spoke these words, his voice uncharacteristically solemn.

Just then, a knock on the door broke the moment, and Fíli briefly squeezed his brother's good hand before sitting up straighter and blinking the tears from his own eyes. Then, he called for the newcomer to enter.

When the door opened, in filed to Ardhoniel's surprise not one but several Dwarves. White-haired Balin came in first, his old and friendly eyes meeting hers briefly before he smiled and moved to stand before the far-end of the bookcase. Then, Dwalin, who despite his previous disliking of her now bowed his head in respect to the Elleth before standing beside his brother. And so followed the remainder of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, each giving her their own silent greeting before taking their place in the line that had formed in front of the bookcase. The last to enter the room, and the one Ardhoniel had least expected to see of all people, was Lord Daín, this time without his helmet and armour, and when their eyes met they were not filled with mockery, but instead a begrudging sort of respect. She dipped her head in acknowledgment to the Dwarf, before he took his place next to Oín.

'Your joining the Company of Thorin Oakenshield was somewhat… unusual, as was your departure,' Fíli started, this time in a louder and more serious voice, though she did detect some hint of humour in his tone. 'No contract was ever signed and as such, no matter of payment ever discussed,' he paused here, eyes roaming across each of the Dwarves' faces before returning to the Elleth's, 'We have discussed the matter amongst the Company and all have agreed to give up a part of their share of the treasure so that you, as the fourteenth member of the Company, receive your share of the treasure.'

Ardhoniel felt her eyebrows raise in surprise, and she couldn't help but let her gaze wander across the faces of the other members of the Company – her companions; her friends. When she returned her eyes to Fíli, a smile formed on her lips and she shook her head. 'I meant what I said when I joined you all those months ago. I came along, and had the honour of making the acquaintance of thirteen of the finest Dwarves – that is all the recompense I could ask for.'

'Blasted tree-hugger,' she could swear she heard an incredulous, but not ill-meant, mumble rise up from right about where Gloín stood, and a soft round of chuckles followed before silence once more befell the room and all turned serious again.

'If you will not accept a reward, then at least accept my gratitude – mine and that of all of us. I am not a Wizard, nor an ancient Elf,' Fíli smiled here, 'but I do know the battle might have easily turned out a different way. For what you did for my people, I name you Bâhukhazâd – Friend of Dwarves – so that the world may never forget what you have done for the line of Durin.'

The young King then turned to his brother, who placed something in the palm of his hand with a prudence that Ardhoniel had never before seen in him. Fíli got up from his chair with difficulty, limping forward so that he now stood directly in front of her, and held out his closed hand to her. 'For what you've done for my kin, I gift you this token, that you may never forget you have our eternal gratitude.' When his fingers stretched, they revealed a delicate bead, the size of the tip of her little finger, forged in a clear silver metal and inscribed with unfamiliar runes. She carefully picked up the jewellery from his hand palm and held it up to inspect it more closely, softly tracing the lines of the markings with her right index finger. When she at last returned her gaze to Fíli, it was heavy with question as she held out her hand with the bead in it back to him.

'It was Thorin's,' Fíli explained, 'It is inscribed with the symbol of the line of Durin; he would have wanted you to have it.'

Ardhoniel was speechless for a moment, the small bead now heavy in her hand with meaning. 'Are you certain?'

When his blue eyes – so like those of Thorin that she felt her heart clench at the sight of them – met hers, no verbal response was needed. Instead, he gently picked up the bead from her hand palm and motioned to her hair. 'May I?'

* * *

The sun was already starting its descent as she gazed across the vast expanse of the plains. The bodies had been removed – either to be buried or burned – and life was slowly but surely returning to the city of Dale and to the Lonely Mountain. The scene was far more peaceful than her last view of it several days prior, and it was perhaps the sharp contrast between the two that made a shiver travel down her spine. Bodies could be removed and fresh snow could wash away the smell and sight of blood and death, but the mental image of it was not so easily forgotten. Forever she would remember it for all that it had been: a site of victory, but also of tremendous loss. Many lives had been lost that day in the battle for freedom.

She felt more than saw Mithrandir taking a place beside her on the flat rock that she had claimed as hers after her meeting with the Fíli and the other Dwarves from the Company had ended. Neneth and Bruihel were seated several feet away, but neither party had felt the need for conversation. From the corner of her eye, she watched the Istar stuff his pipe, 'Bilbo will soon be ready to leave.'

'Good, I wish to leave these plains behind us before nightfall.' With any luck, they could reach the border of Mirkwood within three days, were an escort graciously provided by King Thranduil would await them to see them safely to the western edge of the forest. There they would take their leave of the Lothlórien Elves, and would continue their journey across the Misty Mountains as a trio. And from there: to home. As her thoughts returned to her home, however, it was not overtaken with the memory of the many little creeks and glens, the roaring waters of the Bruinen or the untamed forests of the Trollshaws, or even the sight of her own father and sibling. The only memory that came to her mind was of the day that she decided to leave it all behind on a silly quest for recognition. Half a year had passed to that day, and yet it felt like a lifetime.

'Do you think there was a way to stop this?' Ardhoniel found herself asking the Maia suddenly.

'The war?'

She nodded, her hands busying themselves with pulling at a loose thread of her tunic as she searched for the right words to express her thoughts. 'I find myself wondering, if I had not joined them, would it all have been different? Would they have passed through Mirkwood without being caught by Thranduil and earning his wrath? Would they have passed through Lake-town without having to barter their birth right for shelter and supplies? Would this war have been prevented if not for me?'

Mithrandir puffed on his pipe thoughtfully for a moment. 'That future is long gone – if it ever even existed in the first place. Whether by fate or chance, you joined them on this Quest, my Lady. Not even the wisest may tell what the future would have looked like had you not.'

He inhaled deeply while he let his truthful, but entirely unsatisfactory response sink in with the Elleth. Then, he looked sideways at her, and she could swear there was some warmth in his gaze then that she had never seen directed at her before. 'But I daresay that regardless of your joining them or not, war would have found the Dwarves of Erebor.'

'So my joining them has changed nothing. Not for the worse… but not for the better either.'

'Just because you did not change the course of major events as they were meant to play out does not mean your presence did not make any difference; it made all the difference! You helped Thorin see the truth. He died being able to see beyond his own prejudices, and his nephews live on with that knowledge! As do you, for that matter of fact.' He huffed, shaking his head while muttering something under his breathe along the lines of her being ridiculous, a silly Elf, and something less polite that I shall not repeat here.

However, the annoyed mumblings of the Istar were lost on Ardhoniel, for as his previous words sank in, her hand automatically reached up to finger the braid at the nape of her neck – and the silver bead that held it. At the time, she did not realize the true value of the gift that she had been presented with. Indeed, it was not until seventy-seven years later, when she met a young, red-headed and hot-headed Dwarf not unlike those she had met on her journey to Erebor, that she found out the true significance of the bead.


	44. The Lost Years - Bridge story up!

**Author's Note: Dear readers, as some of you may know a sequel of Bâhukhazâd has been in the planning for quite some time, but due to time constraints I was unable to work on it – until now. I'm proud to announce that the first chapter of a multi-chapter (short) bridge story is now online, under the name of "The Lost Years". In it, I chronicle the lives of many of the characters that we have come to know and love in Bâhukhazâd during the years separating the The Hobbit from The Lord of the Rings. It will be about the aftermath of loss, the experience of grief, but also the importance of friendship, and love, and all of the experiences that make us human – or Elf-kind, in some of our cases.**

 _"Seventy-seven years separated the Battle of the Five Armies and the War of the Ring. Seventy-seven years in which the Dark Lord Sauron returned to his base in Mordor, in which the creature Gollum was caught and interrogated by Gandalf, and in which a most memorable Hobbit named Frodo Baggins was born. However, this is not their story."_


	45. Rebirth - Sequel up!

**Author's Note: Hello all! Just a note to everyone who read _Bâhukhazâd_ and then _The Lost Years_ that the first chapter of the sequel, _Rebirth_ , is now also finally online! I am very exited to start this new journey and I hope many of you will also be returning for the new adventures of Ardhoniel. As with _Bâhukhazâd_ , the sequel will be a mix between the books, the movies, and of course some OCness. **

_"The One Ring has been found, the Fellowship has departed for Mount Doom – and Ardhoniel of Imladris can hide no longer. Forced to face her troubles and herself, she has to decide once and for all. To hold on to the past or to let go. To be brave. To live."_


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